


Secrets Are Our Lies

by HereStrikesDawn



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Coup d'état, Ed and Roy are close in this timeline, HUGHES LIVES, Hughes deserves better, Military, Multiple Pov, Mystery, Parental Roy Mustang, somewhere between '03 and Brotherhood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:40:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23333257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereStrikesDawn/pseuds/HereStrikesDawn
Summary: Following a mysteriously undercover and failed coup d’état, Mustang and his team have been detained in Central City.What's more, the Elrics' secret is out. Edward has been arrested and Alphonse is the Fifth Laboratory's newest addition.It is up to the team, both locked up and not, to unravel this dark plot, fix what has been broken and restore truth where it has been lost.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Winry Rockbell, Gracia Hughes/Maes Hughes
Comments: 39
Kudos: 44





	1. Wait For Me

Secrets Are Our Lies

_The secret is out. Nowhere left to hide._

X

X

X

Wait For Me

There was a rumbling sound outdoors.

She rolled over the covers. 8:30am. An ungodly hour in the morning to her. Especially when she had the tendency to stay up late at night to work on her automail projects. The bad habit began with the Elric brothers (the _older_ one) demanding her top quality automail serviced in three days! Most clients would have been lucky to receive such high calibre prosthetics in three weeks!

Never mind that. Winry was a Rockbell automail engineer; they made the impossible possible. And even if one assumed living in rural Resembool had softened her, they were far from wrong. She wouldn’t let anyone tell her otherwise, especially her own exhausted consciousness. She could focus on both quality and quantity as well as efficiency. It was better to be doing something than nothing at all.

Otherwise she would spend her time waiting… and worrying… and-

Well it was a downwards spiral she wanted to ignore.

She still practiced her apple pie recipe most days that Mrs Hughes had taught her. Not that she was getting her hopes up. She needed to refine her skill.

Granny Pinako thought she was a twit making the same apple pie from the same recipe over and over again, but the old woman hid a longing smile beneath her tough exterior. Winry saw that. And Granny knew she knew.

“Den! Quit your barking!” said matriarch called to Den, who had started becoming hyperactive and excited. Winry could hear her tail thumping against the walls and paws scrabbling at the front door, anticipating what was to come.

The rumbling sound was persistent. Storms rolled down from the mountains often. The land in the countryside was lush and bountiful; in order for crops to flourish, there had to be rain.

Winry groaned and shoved her pillow over her head. She was functioning on four hours sleep. And while she could get up, she did not particularly want to.

A few more hours of quiet. And _peace._

The rumbling sound was coming closer, followed by a crashing sound. The sound of doors closing.

Even with only one brain cell functioning, Winry knew what that meant. A car had come to the Rockbell engineers at 8:30am on a Sunday morning.

That could mean one of two things: either an emergency had landed on her doorstep or… someone had come to deliver her bad news.

As to the former, why would an amputee appear at her doorstep when she lived in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps it was the reputation. Perhaps it was because the Rockbells were the only automail engineers crazy enough to set up a clinic this remote.

But still patients flocked to her like sheep. She was amazed by how famous the Rockbell name was.

As to the latter, she didn’t really want to think about that. She had been delivered enough bad news for a lifetime thank you very much.

Nevertheless, both options required her to jump out of bed to hearing Granny hollering “WINRY” and the front door knocking simultaneously.

 _So much for the sleep,_ a hazy part of her brain complained.

She was soon to forget her tiredness as she stomped down the creaky hallway, which felt longer and heavier to descend.

She grabbed a jacket at the bottom of the stairway and slid it on her shoulders, not bothering to put her arms through the sleeves. Granny was already engrossed in a conversation with a man dressed in ultramarine.

_Military! But Granny scorned the military, she thought they were scum for stealing away her parents and her best friends._

Granny would only be so hospitable to one member of the damn military that wore that uniform… but the individual in front of her was certainly not the beefy mustachio Major Armstrong who sparkled and never wore a shirt.

This man was considerably younger, likely not too much older than Winry. He had a nervous look on his face as though he felt intimidated by the short woman standing in front of him. However, he was smiling and trying to hold down a conversation, rubbing one hand at the back of his head. The other held onto a letter stamped with the military seal.

“What is it?” Winry gasped

“Where are your manners, girl?” Pinako hissed at Winry, “this man is Sergeant Denny Brosh, he works under the Major and has a letter for you.”

“Are they alright?” Winry snatched the letter from the Sergeant’s offering hands. When had her own hands started shaking? She muttered a quick and brief thank you before tearing open the letter.

“Edward and Alphonse? Yeah… they’re ok. They’re not being harmed,” Brosh paused, shaking his head very slightly. His shoulders stiffened.

“I hope you’re telling the truth. Those boys mean the world to us,” Granny said with every ounce of seriousness in her voice.

“What happened?” Winry ripped through the military wax seal and snatched the paper and began to read.

“The letter will tell you, miss,” Brosh said awkwardly shuffling on his feet, but Winry temporarily forgot he existed as she scanned the contents of the letter:

_Dear Miss Winry Rockbell,_

_You have been summoned to Central City to serve as witness to the defendant, Major Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, in his trials of crime committed against the State Military regarding his key involvement in the coup d’état initiated by Colonel Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist on 1 st March 1914. _

_Crimes against the State are punishable by Law and it is demanded justice is served to all. Your contribution as witness is essential. The trial shall commence in Court 1, Justice Building, Central City. Your escort can provide direction for you._

_We hope you receive this letter well. We look forward to receiving you in court._

And names. And directions. And places.

Winry didn’t need to read the letter again, she had absorbed the contents like a sponge. However, her eyes went scanning over the page once more, twice more, reading between the lines, wondering if this could have been an elaborate prank the Elrics had pulled on her (no, just Edward).

But the seriousness on the Sergeant’s face… the car… the friendly formality in the letter with the military seal…

Granny had taken the letter from Winry and had scanned the contents of this herself. She sighed and seemed to hunch over a little, putting a hand on Den’s shoulder for support. For a second, she looked her age, a grandmother who had had to raise three children on her own. But that fragility came and went in an instant and she righted herself.

Winry’s fists were shaking. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. “Those dummies!”

“We’re here to take you to Central, to save you the need to travel…” Brosh chuckled nervously. He gestured behind him to the car, where Winry could make out another individual sitting in the driver’s seat. She had dark cropped hair and was glancing in their direction. “She is Second Lieutenant Maria Ross, she also works under the Major.”

The Sergeant raised a hand in greeting. Winry could imagine the soldier rolling her eyes but she lifted her hand to salute in return.

Winry glared at the Sergeant, “what has happened to them?”

“You military folk have taken enough from us,” Granny added, “we may not have slammed the door on your face because you work for the Major, but do not get in on our bad books. We Rockbells remember.”

“The truth is, Miss Rockbell, we don’t know too much ourselves,” the Sergeant admitted, “they have been detained alongside Colonel Mustang’s crew and some soldiers from the East Area he must have rallied together. Their goal was to neutralise the Fuhrer.”

The date was 5th March. Those damn Elrics had been part of an insurgence plot nearly a week ago and she had known nothing about it! She hated how she trusted her feelings to the brothers but they had so many secrets between themselves, ones she was rarely, if ever privy to. Anger boiled in her belly, not just towards the military but towards Ed and Al too. She hated being left behind and left out all the time!

But _now_ they needed her. She was always there waiting for them to come back home; she would be waiting with an apple pie and express automail maintenance and repair. They would leave again and return eventually. It was a cycle.

“You jerks!” she cried out loud without realising she did. She sniffled and noticed a few tears falling down her face. She wiped them away but her jaw remained clenched.

“None of that is this young soldier’s fault, Winry!” Granny snapped at her granddaughter, “you’ve been summoned and don’t think about crawling back into bed, do you hear me? Ed and Al both need you.”

Winry nodded, “let me grab my stuff.”

She didn’t head to her bedroom. She went straight to her workshop area and her most recent design for Ed’s prosthetics were sitting waiting on her shelf. With utmost care, she placed the automail arm and leg into a maintenance bag. Just in case. Ed may have grown a millimetre in 5 months (had it been that long?).

She found a smaller carrier bag and shoved some clothes and essentials into that. She had watched the Elrics live out of a suitcase for years. She could do that for a couple of weeks. And then she would be dragging them back to Resembool where she would lock them up here herself for a year.

Finally she shoved some clean clothes on, pulled the tangles out of her hair and splashed water on her face. She looked tired but determined.

There was a knock on her bedroom door and it was the Sergeant, “may I help you with these? We’re so sorry to have inconvenienced you all of a sudden-”

“I’ve had worse, don’t worry,” Winry found herself chuckling and gratefully passed her carrier bag to the. She secured the maintenance bag over her shoulder, the strap resting over her heart, where it would stay.

As they walked down the stairs, the Sergeant turned to her, “The Major sent me here to give you a message too, in secrecy. He said: ‘we’re going to save them’”.

Winry nodded firmly, slight admiration growing for the Sergeant. He didn’t seem like a self-righteous ass that most pompous military staff had about them.

Granny was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs holding a basket. Den turned sad eyes on Winry and her master gave her a quick pet behind the ears.

“Will you be alright with the projects, Granny?”

The older woman smirked, “of course. Just make sure you raid our favourite customer’s bank for this express delivery. And bring them home so we can feed them up.”

She handed the basket with the baked apple pie over to the younger Rockbell without having to say anything.

As the Sergeant bowed slightly in respect to the Rockbell matriarch and turned to take his leave, Winry leaned down and pulled her grandmother into a hug.

“You’re worse than the dog,” Granny complained.

“I’ll miss you… I’m scared.”

“You’ll be fine. Be yourself and nothing else.”

“I love you, Granny. See you soon,” and Winry felt the grip wrapped around her shoulders become tighter for a moment.

“See you later, Win,” Granny pulled out of the embrace while simultaneously pulling out her pipe, “now get going!”

Winry glanced around the countryside of her hometown. The rolling hills, the pastures and meadows she played in as a child; the sheep grazing in their fields like fluffy clouds; smiling, friendly familiar faces greeting her when she walked into the village centre.

They really weren’t children anymore, were they.

As she stepped into the military car, she greeted her other escort, Second Lieutenant Ross, and settled into the back seat.

The moment the house on the hill had passed out of her view, the steady of rhythm of the car began to lull her.

“It is your turn to _wait for me,_ you idiots,” Winry imagined their backs in the distance. In her mind’s eye, she watched herself running after them, adamant she would never be left behind again.

Brosh and Ross turned round to check on her a little while later to see the famous Rockbell engineer snoring softly in the back seat, clutching the maintenance bag with all the strength she could muster.


	2. Action Plan

Secrets Are Our Lies

X

X

X

Action Plan

Maes Hughes was a family man, that was an established fact.

But he considered himself an extremely lucky bastard as well as a family man after Roy’s little… incident.

The man had fucked up, it was as simple as that. And that left Maes struggling to pick up the pieces of the chessboard that had scattered (fallen out of place but not yet out of the game).

Or it could have been that Roy’s plan was flawless, as usually was the case when it came to his best friend (Maes could imagine the smug bastard’s expression), and the enemy had been far better prepared.

And when said enemy was the Fuhrer of Amestris, King Bradley, notorious military man and wartime legend, had an army to utilise, it was no wonder Roy’s fiasco had backfired the way it had.

Maes still could not believe the Colonel and his entire team, including the Elrics, had been arrested and detained. Maes and Armstrong had barely escaped detainment; it was because they had not been present with Mustang that evidence could not have been thrown against him.

“Dear, your fried egg will become scrambled if you keep mixing it without eating it,” Gracia added, her voice gentle but concerned. Elicia was reading quietly in bed, her nightlight still gleaming through the open crack of her door.

“Silly me,” Hughes chuckled, the sound half-hearted and forced, and he forced the food bolus down his throat. He picked up his plate and carried it into the sink where he began to wash up.

“Leave that to me; you had better head out to pick Winry up from Central HQ,” Gracia stood up from the table and leaned forward to peck his cheek.

“I’m worried about you, Maes,” she said simply and Maes took a deep breath before turning to face his wife. She had been as worried as he had been, but she carried on bravely, stoically. What other choice did they have? And Maes held her hands tightly, hoping some of her courage and determination could seep into his heavy heart.

But before he could open his mouth to speak, he heard the clock chime. Damn was that the time already?

He was due to pick Winry up in twenty minutes and he could make it to HQ in that time as a brusque pace. While it was technically springtime out, he needed a coat for early evening as the city air was still bitter, the residues of winter fighting to linger for as long as possible.

“Stay safe,” Gracia smiled, “we’re here for you. No getting yourselves into any trouble! And I’ll go and tell Elicia where you’re going… she can stay up past her bedtime tonight.”

Maes looked lovingly at his wife and then towards his daughter’s bedroom. He tucked his coat collar up as he exited the flat and braced himself to face the topsy-turvy winter-spring breeze.

With Elicia, he was happy to ponder along slowly as she tottered along the city’s canals. And the same applied when he went on a family stroll with the park. When he was with Roy, he struggled to keep up; despite how lazy the man was in the office, he patrolled the streets of Central like a lion stalking through its territory. There was ambition and desire evident in every step.

_Dammit,_ Maes felt the same conundrum circulating through his mind as it had over dinner. Just what exactly had Roy been playing at?

Because while Maes was usually a chief conspirator for Mustang (they had had to entertain themselves at the Military Academy _somehow_ ), he had been left in the dark about the extent of Mustang’s coup d’état.

That’s what that damn pompous Colonel had attempted. To overthrow the Fuhrer.

Some soldiers from the north at been there. But most were soldiers from the East Area, notorious insurgents after the Civil War. They were hard soldiers to control, so remained stationed in the east; the higher ups in Central thought having them out of the action would make their problem disappear. But the higher ups had been too complacent and when the time had come for them to tighten the leash on these unpredictable soldiers, a fully fledged coup had been planned.

And then staged.

Maes had not been present at the scene because he had been tucking Elicia up into bed, absolutely clueless to the military revolt literally happening around the block.

_Involving his best friends and kids. His_ family.

He was a family man and when he couldn’t protect his family while they were too busy being damn martyrs, Maes Hughes became very. Pissed. Off.

How long had Roy been planning this for?

Roy was the man who didn’t give a damn about what happened to him, but hurt those he cared about and he was fire. And his subordinates meant the same to him as family did to Maes.

Especially the Lieutenant. Hawkeye would have followed the Colonel into a pit of lava if he went ahead and did so. For Mustang to risk his men like he had, there must have been a very good reason.

Or he was desperate.

While Maes could have spent hours with his Investigations head screwed on, he knew the action would only continue draining him. He spent enough hours in work (and overtime scratching his head in perplexed awe and frustration over Scar’s disappearances) to understand the antics of his best friend whom he knew so well, but also not at all.

And that hurt.

Well, tomorrow changed that.

He had had to keep it under wraps, including his wife and Major Armstrong. Through a fellow soldier from Ishval (or _accomplice_ ), he had been given permission to visit the Colonel. The military had probably approved the visit and hoped they would capture Maes speaking in code to Mustang, finding someway to apprehend the Lieutenant Colonel.

They were a notorious pair in the military. If one was under arrest, it felt impossible for the other one not to be, as though they were conjoined twins, born from a deity of mischief.

Maes yawned, stretching the kinks out in his back. They popped happily and he rolled his shoulders, feeling a smile ease its way onto his face.

He had an action plan. He was going to find that bastard and get answers.

For this moment, he was going to pick up Winry and bring her back to her home in Central, Elicia’s one and only ‘older sister’.

He would take the time to spend with his family, as after tonight, he was not sure when he would be able to rest soundly next.

* * *

Major Alexander Louis Armstrong could not preserve his concentration as he focused on his weight training in the gym. He had been sloppy with his sparring and his sides were complaining, a stitch having found its way through his guard, meaning he had been careless with his warm-up stretching. To be lax on such important and simple tasks was far unlike him, far unlike any Armstrong for that matter…

Preparation for the fight was a skill which had been passed down the Armstrong line for generations.

Armstrong had to stick to his fitness routine if he wished to maintain his muscle mass, which was imperative to protect the citizens of Amestris with his physical strength as well as the power alchemy bestowed him with! His routine was flawless, some said he ‘dazzled’ while dripping with sweat, shirtless.

However, tonight, his shirt remained on and he had barely broken out in a sweat.

He was not fully embracing the opportunity to tone up this hour bestowed upon him this evening!

Young Miss Rockbell had made it safely to Central City with her escorts. Armstrong had embraced the Sergeant and Second Lieutenant, praising them for their hard work, efficiency and care, for Miss Rockbell had reassured him that they had been excellent escorts for the timing and matter surrounding the…situation. Ross had looked exhausted, having driven nearly non-stop to make up for lost time (tractors and sheep had made travelling through the countryside painfully slower). Armstrong was glad he had instructed her to travel straight back to HQ as opposed to the Hughes’ apartment.

Alex had also made that choice to lighten the strain from the Lieutenant Colonel. The last thing him and his sweet little family needed was a military intrusion, which would only set the neighbours gossiping. He offered to accompany the father back, of course.

However much Hughes had appreciated the sentiment, he had declined the Major’s offer and left HQ with Miss Rockbell, holding her belongings and making jovial conversation with her. For the first time all week, he had seemed relaxed. Miss Rockbell had still clung to the maintenance bag, the contents containing young Edward Elric’s newest automail prosthetics within.

Armstrong had had to admit to pulling a forced smile as he recollected on the events from the week which had done naught but be a taxing nuisance on his mind.

Colonel Mustang and his wonderful staff, as well as the young Elric boys placed under arrest? He could not believe what he was hearing, except it was his own youngest sister who had delivered such grievous news on his day off. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes had been fretting around like an expecting mother ever since and he had never seen the Investigations department work itself more rigorously into the mysterious events surrounding the Colonel’s unexpected uprising.

However, with each day that passed, the more complicated the plot became; if the Colonel’s best friend could not understand his antics, an Investigations mastermind would struggle to come close to understanding Roy Mustang. Armstrong respected the man, but never underestimated the power he could wield with a _snap_ ; while Mustang’s goals were clear and a commonality with Alex’s own from Ishval, the man still had an enigmatic persona about him.

However, it was the strange letter he had received from eldest sister, Major General Olivier Mira Armstrong that night.

It been delivered with her seal and it contained her writing, but what was unsettling were the simple words on the page, words already ingrained in his brain:

_Find the truth hidden within the truth._

_If you understand, burn this letter at once._

_-Major General O.M. Armstrong_

_PS_

(Alex was perplexed; she would never add ‘pointless flowery waffle’ to a letter).

_PS: If you weep reading this, you are still too soft. I will know and I will come and knock some sense into you._

So he had of course complied with the letter’s instructions, and while it was an arduous task not to let those emotive tears shed at reading his sister’s words and her (very slight) concern for him moved him to the soul.

He had watched the letter burn in the fireplace, observing at how the paper turned to cinders and smoke, returning to the world, completing the cycle of equivalency that governed all alchemy. There was a mystic and awe-inspiring quality to alchemy which never ceased to amaze the Major.

After watching the fire begin and end, he had taken to the mansion’s gymnasium to complete his workout regime.

While the contents of the letter had been transmuted in their own way, never to be read again, Tim Marcoh’s words burnt in his mind: _Find the truth hidden within the truth._

It had been himself, Alphonse Elric and Edward Elric who had been the only members to hear those words spoken.

And from what he understood of his sister’s relations (she was incredibly secretive which made that role challenging), she was not acquainted with the former Crystal Alchemist.

What was stranger still was the involvement of northern troops in the Colonel’s unsuccessful revolt, seemingly without lead or involvement from Olivier, which had also landed them a spot in prison. Olivier remained stoically guarding Fort Briggs on the border with Drachma but had still sent him this letter at such a time when news may not have reached her about Mustang’s coup d’état attempts, what with power lines going down with the blistering snowstorms that accompanied the end of winter in the north.

The fact that his siblings were more informed on events than he was made the Major feel unnerved. It was as if he was being kept in the dark on purpose…

No, that could not be it! Coincidence was coincidence and Alex had to have faith in his power over those he could save. And he was determined to save everyone.

Alex seemed to be generating more questions than answering them, which would never lead to a solution. Now that he thought about it, an Armstrong had written a philosophical book on the topic.

With this thought on mind, Alex made it his mission to seek out that book in their personal library. When in doubt, the words of an Armstrong could solve any midnight conundrum.


	3. Not Mad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some language on this one!

Secrets Are Our Lies

X 

X

X

Not Mad

“Sir, if you want to talk to him, we will have to restrain him again…” the soldier in question gulped. She was a young but muscular woman, the type that could handle her own business. That was exactly why she had made her a part of her staff.

Stella was fed up with mistakes and the lack of answers.

The bribes had been fruitless. Every endeavour to form a compromise with the wilful (what an understatement) blond-haired boy had ended in failure.

He had still been able to concuss one of her other staff members despite lacking two limbs to do his bidding. And he had been restrained.

Edward Elric was certainly the kind of boy who could not take ‘no’ for an answer.

Stella Anderson needed the _answers now._ She didn’t have the time or luxury to wait around until the trial was over and-

She took a deep breath. She had to compose herself. She was a scientist and overseeing such… challenging work as she did in the Fifth Laboratory on a daily basis should mean handling the Fullmetal Alchemist be as easy as swallowing a cup of tea.

She _could not_ fail. She would show them all… she could tame the Fullmetal Alchemist; she had just the means how.

“Yes you will have to put extra restraint on him, but don’t worry, Private. It is time to bring _him_ out,” Stella grinned. The secret would be out, but boy would Edward’s broken face (and answers) be worth it.

* * *

Hughes had had a wonderful evening, he truly had. To spend quality time with his wife and daughter and for Win to have stayed with his family too had made his heart melt. He had been sure to capture the moment in dozens… make that hundreds of pictures. From the candid Gracia kissing Elicia goodnight on the forehead; to Winry dozing in an armchair with his daughter curled on her lap, also close to falling asleep.

Hughes had been so happy he could have cried.

As he laid there that night, a genuine smile on his face, he took the moment to count his blessings. Every night since Ishval, and with that the uncertainty as to whether he would live another day to see his loved ones again, when he had stumbled out alive of that bloody and long war, he had incorporated gratitude into a part of his daily life.

And if he could have smiled through those days, he could smile now; the literal love that emanated from this house could fuel Hughes on a photography frenzy for a month.

But as the dawn had surfaced, he had awoken to find himself with a twitchy eye, a nervous tick which had developed overnight.

Luckily he had glasses that liked to push down the bridge of his nose. When he pushed them back up, he rubbed his eye and temple, trying to subside the tick.

He had to be confident. He had to wear a smile.

Not by force, but by choice.

Winry had been excitedly discussing with Gracia her plan to visit the mechanical shops dotted throughout Central, which happened to pass next to one of the city’s markets. The girls had a full agenda planned for that day. Hughes made his leave early the next day. He shrugged his coat on again (damn cold sunshine) and Gracia came over with a napkin to rub the toast crumbs off from his face.

“We’ll see you tonight,” she smiled and Hughes kissed her perfect cheek before darting in to kiss the other. Gracia blushed like she had when they had first courted.

“Get going, dear,” she attempted to say earnestly but chuckled into her sleeve as Hughes reached the threshold between the comforts of his home and the real world. He turned to see Elicia and Winry disagreeing on a topic. Said topic being her mother and father.

“Yucky!” Elicia had shut her eyes and adamantly put her hands over her eyes.

“It’s not yucky, Elicia,” Winry was able to coax his daughter’s eyes open with a bribing candy.

“What is it then?” she asked curiously.

“That’s love, the most special feeling in the world,” Winry squeezed the little girl’s hands and reached over to tickle her, “this is what it feels like! I love you!”

Hughes lifted a hand in farewell and closed the apartment door behind him.

The walk to the… prison was shorter than the walk to HQ. It resided next to the Fifth Laboratory, the closest of the five that were found in the city to his apartment. Part of that had been out of convenience when he had been dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn to interview criminals with a lead to a case. It had been part of his contingency plan to make up for the enough lack of sleep he would be getting as a new father and it had served him well.

He heard cars rumbling and chatter; he smelt smog and freshly brewing coffee well-trained baristas were making for the freshly hungover folk who had to scamper off to work. Setting himself to a steady pace, he willed his twitchy eye to subside and relish in living in the greatest city in the world. There may have been a lot wrong with it, as with the whole of Amestris, but it was _home._

Ten minutes later, he had reached his address: Central State Prison.

A highly secure facility where the occupants were either murderers or insane was a common rumour spread by the gossiping queens of Central. Hughes would not have denied that they were telling the truth… until now.

Because Colonel Roy Mustang was _neither._

The tick had returned, but Hughes allowed his temple to throb, the determined smile still strong on his face. He was nervous as hell, but at least he would finally get to see his best friend.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hughes,” a cold but familiar voice greeted him as the front doors to the prison swung open (held by two nervous looking subordinates). Major General Hakuro stepped out from his domain. Hughes felt the blood curdling in his skull sink to his feet.

“Major General, Sir, I did not expect to see you here,” Hughes admitted, saluting. “I hope you and your family are doing well.”

The comment was passing and tributary to most, but Hakuro’s eyes glared with menace; Hughes had been witness to how Edward and Roy had helped save the General and his family when they had been held hostage on an eventful train journey. Hughes was gently reminding Hakuro of this event. And Hakuro took the hint.

“They are well, thank you for the concern, Lieutenant Colonel,” Hakuro forced out with sweetness, “but yes, the Fuhrer has assigned me to watch Mustang and his team. He wanted someone he could trust and with experience to prevent him from… running wild again.

“Who’s to say he won’t lose control again like that?”

_Don’t say anything, Hughes._

“What are you referring to, General? From my sources, the Colonel’s actions did not result in any fatalities,” and Hughes knew his sources were correct. He had spent enough time with Roy’s case file in his hand to know its contents inside out.

“Just a precaution,” Hakuro waved his hand, “but let us not waste anymore time! Let me bring you to the Colonel and you can give me your… thoughts on how to handle him.”

_Just a precaution! Hakuro is throwing the Ishval spanner into the works. When I can, I will show him exactly the shit Roy went through while Hakuro sat on his ass throwing away lives like they were confetti._

Hughes nodded pleasantly and allowed Hakuro to guide him inside.

The building was a standard prison on the ground floor, but when the superior officer led him to an elevator and down to the third basement floor, he felt like he was in a crypt.

The standard cell after cell that followed one another on the other cells had been abandoned in favour of a more… minimalistic design. The walls were pure white which had faded with time and some other darker coloured stains that had clearly been washed away, yet truth remained. Pearly white light bathed over them. Military blue was the only other colour present in this wasteland, as though a leech had washed out all colour and feeling in the place.

As Hughes walked along the desolate corridor, he counted a dozen cells in total, with only three of them occupied. It seemed like a massive waste of time and space. Each cell had a sink and toilet, a bed, a desk and even a small table for meals. However, to each cell, three military police members were assigned to guarding the occupant within. Hughes couldn’t catch a glimpse of the first occupant. The second was pleading with the MP guarding her, begging her to let him out, let him out let him out-

The third was sitting contentedly on their bed and although they seemed happy, they were having an animated conversation with the wall. Hughes thought he was talking to friendly ghosts; he would not be surprised if ghouls found comfort lurking this close to the underworld.

Hakuro did not say a word. He continued to march stoically further down the corridor.

Because there was one other occupant locked up at the end cell. Double the number of MPs were guarding him. Hughes’ gut twisted as he stopped at the line, allowed the MP to pat him down (double security check) and crossed over the imaginary threshold.

His best friend was standing in orange prison uniform, staring menacingly at anyone who walked past. The bright orange almost made the straitjacket unnoticeable, limiting use of his hands. He was wearing thickly padded and soft-looking boot-socks; injuring his toes to form an array would be impossible as well as any movement more advanced than hopping. Chains were secured around his ankles, tightened by manacles. He couldn’t lower his head due to the wooden bar secured around his neck. The man who had everything now had nothing. He had deep rims under his eyes despite only being here for what… a week? Time could change a person, but it didn’t matter what duration that was over.

He didn’t look like a pompous Colonel, miniskirt herald and ladies man. Here he was simply Mustang. Simply Roy.

“He may be a little unresponsive, as he only came out of isolation yesterday evening. We wanted to make sure he was presentable even if he wouldn’t say a word,” Hakuro commented, looking Mustang up and down as though he was a race animal. One that had talent and merit, but only to its owner. And disposable…

_Don’t think about it._

“Where are the others?” Hughes asked, referring to Mustang’s team.

“They’re being kept in Central’s other prison. They are safe and secure. We didn’t want to give Mustang too much enthusiasm,” Hakuro said simply, not trying hard to disguise the redness in his cheeks, “Grand and I are swapping between the prisons, to make sure we’re not missing out on any hidden agendas.”

Mustang said nothing.

“He does have the Fullmetal Alchemist for company at this facility however. Not that he would know it. Fullmetal has been unruly and hence is being kept in isolation. He was told about your visit but decided to kick off.”

“What about Alphonse?”

“He is here too,” the General said vaguely. But Hughes had snapped back to attention.

“Where is Alphonse?” Hughes repeated, his tone like ice.

“He is being kept nearby to Fullmetal,” Hakuro said loosely, waving his hand dismissively. Hughes made a mental note never to trust this man even though he didn’t already.

Hakuro then turned to face the Colonel, “it is surprising how complacent you’ve been, Mustang. I hear that that Lieutenant of yours won’t sit still-”

Mustang flinched slightly, but only enough for someone perceptive like Hughes to notice. Hakuro was buried too far up his own ass to notice a subtle detail like that.

“They are stubborn. But further investigation should sort that out…” Hakuro mused, seemingly forgetting about Hughes being present. Ticking off an item on a checklist, people turning into nothing more than numbers.

“You can’t touch him! Or the others, you can’t… Innocent until proven guilty,” Hughes interjected, moving closer to Hakuro, raising a fist. It was shaking. Roy was standing in the same spot, eyes vacant and he didn’t say a damn thing.

Two of the MPs lifted their weapons upon Hughes’ move. But he didn’t care. He rushed forward with the time he had and slammed his hands against the bars, scanning those midnight-sky eyes for a flame, an ember, hell even a spark of life that told him Roy Mustang was there. Anything to tell him the snarky Colonel would emerge. To speak up against this bastard General and tell him what he was doing was fucking wrong, that he was innocent, that he didn’t do something so damn stupid-

Roy said nothing.

“That is enough, Lieutenant Colonel,” Hakuro lifted a commanding hand and the MPs lowered their weapons. Hughes held onto the bars for a moment more and let go.

“He couldn’t have…” Hughes was trembling.

_He couldn’t have, I’m overthinking this. Roy is not mad to plan a coup d’état not only to overthrow the Fuhrer but kill him?_

“We found Colonel Mustang at exactly eleven hundred hours in the evening on the night of the 1st March 1914 pinning our esteemed Fuhrer against a wall with a gun to his head, all exits blocked by transmuted fire walls. His personal guards had been eliminated,” Hakuro said earnestly Hughes felt his world crashing down around him. His best friend… a murderer? He didn’t believe it, he couldn’t!

Roy said nothing.


	4. The Professor

Secrets Are Our Lies

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The Professor 

Edward stared at the lousy straitjacket and sighed incredibly loudly, hoping somebody would hear him. There were no guards around, even if he was ‘notorious’ for causing trouble. He liked that. Hell, they would back off and leave him and Al to their own devices.

It had been the first full night of him being imprisoned. He was supposed to be in isolation, but he wasn’t going anywhere without Al. That was that. He had been arrested without causing a fuss and because he had not influenced or been involved in the crime, the MPs probably did it more as a precaution. He was being patient and doing as he was told because the bastard _had told him so_ but Ed could do what he liked.

The tiny amount of respect he had for Colonel Bastard was not much.

“You should get some rest, Brother,” Al said softly from the corner of the cell, reading the titles of the books he had no way of reading. The prison didn’t have a straitjacket large enough for the suit of armour, so manacles had had to suffice. The prison staff were extending a huge amount of trust to the ‘notorious’ Elric brothers. Ed wondered why.

Ed and Al had only been arrested because they had been found at the scene where the idiot and his subordinates were attempting to assassinate the Fuhrer.

Ed had gone along to try and stop the Colonel _;_ his future self nearly didn’t believe it…

_Ed had been at a near run to keep up with the damn bastard. He may not have been as tall as the smug ass (not that he was short) but his legs were struggling to keep up. He was tired. He had been up all day and had had to frantically find out where Hawkeye had residence in Central, as that was where the Colonel had been hanging out._

_He damn well hated how he had come to know the Colonel better. Three weeks of roundabout missions had forged a bond or sorts. The kind that wasn’t quite friendship, more of a ‘thanks for saving my life’ kind of deal. Ed didn’t want to ruminate on how in debt he was to the Colonel._

_“Stop for a moment and think, you bastard,” Ed had heaved, having finally reached the taller man’s side. Mustang was marching through a transmuted underground tunnel direct to the Fuhrer’s residence. His military coat still somehow billowed behind him despite there being no breeze. His gaze had been set in front of him, determined and unwavering, in its goal._

_“You don’t have to be here, Fullmetal,” the Colonel had replied without averting his gaze._

_“Yeah, I do! You’re not thinking clearly-”_

_“Not thinking clearly? Those bastards left us no other choice,” his teeth had gritted, “if it was Al, you’d do the same.”_

_Ed had opened his mouth to make a retort but no words came out; it was true, he would hunt and hurt whoever threatened Al._

_“Innocent lives need to be saved. But I would pull the trigger for Hughes’ sake in a heartbeat,”_

_“I know,” Ed had sighed, thinking about a particular part in their three-week mission, “it just sucks. He doesn’t know about any of this.”_

_“That’s the burden we have to carry, Fullmetal. And as long as those loved ones are safe, we will continue to carry it,” the Colonel suddenly came to a halt and said in a louder voice for all of his team to hear, “we’re here.”_

_Edward’s throat had tightened as he thought of Winry and Granny and Teacher and Al._

_And with a flash of light, he activated the pre-drawn array and the world sparkled with blue alchemy…_

Ed shook his head, the only damn body part he could move in this godforsaken cell. He should have done more to shake the Colonel off!

He would demand those guards that would bring him breakfast to tell him about the bastard and Lieutenant and the others. Make sure they were ok. He would not be rowdy, as he had made a promise. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t add a few select words he used for when he was incredibly pissed off.

Ed attempted to kick his legs in the only feeble way he could with these ugly boots and manacles on his feet. He had to sit still and wait.

The only problem was patience was a virtue he was not blessed with. Damn portal of Truth had bestowed him no knowledge of that. But useless information such as transmuting lined paper into lineless paper, easy, he could do that with his eyes closed.

Finally, after what seemed like days, he heard the heavyset thud of boots and clicking of heels coming along the corridor. Ed bolted upright, struggling to his feet without awkwardly flopping over, while his stomach rumbling anxiously. Al wriggled his way to stand next to his brother. Not that Ed would say aloud, but he appreciated the sentiment.

Six MPs were walking up to their cell, two of them holding trays of food. Behind them came two scientists in white lab coats and leading the rear was a woman wearing a scarlet lab coat; Ed saw her blood-red high heels and realised she was the source of the clicking sound.

Ed was honoured he was infamous enough to require a troupe to just bring him food.

“I would think a State Alchemist was entitled to more than _slime,_ ” Ed commented on the prison food the guards were holding, which looked like a pile of vomit.

“Prison policy tolerates no favouritism, surely you would expect that, Fullmetal?” and Ed glared angrily as Major General Hakuro marched towards the cell. Ed had never paid much attention to military officers; he did not show a preference, like or dislike. As long as they let him carry on with his search for a way to restore Al’s body, he didn’t care what they thought of him. But not Hakuro, who had dragged him on that three-week mission away from Al.

“Now there is someone I would like to introduce you to. This is Professor Stella Anderson,” Hakuro continued, ignoring Edward’s menacing glare. “She is involved in research at the Fifth Laboratory and has heard of your… dealings.”

Ed couldn’t stop himself from flitting his eyes to the red-heeled lady. There was a look of superiority on her face as she looked down on him, as though silently scorning him.

“So now what, are you going to watch us eat or something? Examine us like specimens?” Ed scoffed, his tummy rumbling again. With each second that passed, the slime looked more and more edible.

“Brother-” Al interjected but paused.

“Actually, yes we are,” the Professor answered, shifting her glasses further up her nose, “you are of particular interest to me. I am no alchemist but I still research alchemy through monitoring and designing experiments. Much like its name, the Fifth Laboratory is interested in the Fifth Element, what alchemists refer to as ‘quintessence’.

“How can we measure this invisible power? How can we harness it,” she said as Hakuro coughed, “for the benefit of our noble military and protecting the citizens of Amestris? You are of intrigue to me, Fullmetal Alchemist, as you can perform alchemy without a transmutation circle and perform transmutations without seeming to tire. You seem to possess extra reserves of quintessence. Simply put, you intrigue me.”

Ed had to stop himself from wincing in shock. Hadn’t the Fifth Laboratory been destroyed? He had not seen the building when he had been brought to the prison as it had been dark out. Him and Al had exposed the truth behind the lab- factories for producing the Philosopher’s Stone.

But then a rational part of his mind began to contribute to his thoughts. It would have been easy for the military to cover up the truth, make up some rubbish about the Fifth Lab undergoing maintenance works. The tattooed creature gang must have been behind this.

“Thanks for the compliment, I guess. I like your shoes,” Edward answered honestly. They were in his favourite colour and make him taller than he already was (not that he was short dammit!). “And in answer to your question, it was through damn effort and hard work.”

In Ed’s defence, he was not completely lying. But his and Al’s taboo attempt at human transmutation would remain a secret he took to the grave. He would find a way to get Al’s body back, resign his state certification and never step foot into a HQ again.

“Interesting prosthetics you have there,” she said.

 _Dammit, here we go again,_ he thought angrily.

“From the war,” he muttered.

“From Ishval? What were you doing there, you would have just been a _child_?”

“Grew up in the countryside,” he said dismissively.

“And your brother has whole body prosthetics.”

“Yes, he does.”

“I have never seen whole body prosthetics. From what I know, spine and neck prosthetics are only being developed now. And that’s in the secure facilities of the Fourth Laboratory…”

“We have a great mechanic.”

“Can I have their reference?”

“You keep away from her!”

“Very well, then. It seems I got side-tracked. Back on topic, how is it then that you both have such large reserves of energy? Especially you, Fullmetal, you can erect a statue of a Sun God that would have taken mortals months to craft and even alchemists would have taken longer than you. You can achieve all of this despite your stature.”

“I am _not short,_ dammit!”

“What did you do to build up your quintessence supply? How do you have the stamina? No such training programme exists for one so young without finding a… method to obtain that stamina.”

Blood. Mum’s warped face, a mangled hand reaching out for him. A basement. Death. The Truth.

“I didn’t-”

“Did you perhaps take that energy from your brother when you performed human transmutation on him?”

The Portal. Knowledge hurled at him. Alone. Having his leg ripped off to pay the toll.

“Did you perhaps draw from his life force and make it your own, making your brother only a ghost of his former self?”

Al. A hand reaching out as he decomposed. Screaming. A terrified child’s screaming.

“I FUCKING DIDN’T! LEAVE US ALONE!” Ed tightened his automail his fist as best as he could.

“I would like to have a look at your brother’s automail,” Professor Anderson gave her order.

And with that, two of the MPs and the lab technicians went towards Ed and Al’s cell, one of them holding a key. Ed was shaken, but he was prepared to fight. Hakuro stood to the side, looking thoroughly amused.

“Brother, what are we going to do?” Al whispered, his armour clanking ever so softly.

“Make a fuss, I guess, Al,” Ed half-grinned, half-grimaced.

“Before we continue, I would like to ask if you have been acquainted with 48 and 66?” the Professor asked.

Ed and Al paused.

“From your silence, I guess you have. They were both my creations,” and she smiled.

She knew. She knew about binding souls to suits of armour. She knew about their ruckus at the Fifth Lab.

She knew about Al.

“Let’s not keep any more secrets from each other. You know mine, now show me _yours._ ”

Like a predator, she stormed forwards as the cell door clicked open.

Punching and kicking. Al. They had Al. His helmet clanked off, he had no time to perform alchemy. Ed struggled but to no avail. The Professor had a taser. She tapped the pointer directly _onto his blood seal._

Al screamed.

His armour slumped and Ed felt his heart break in two. He was screaming after his brother. Five of the MPs were restraining him alone despite the straitjacket, despite the ugly as hell boots.

Al was going away…

Al was going away and Ed had promised him he would never leave him again after being apart for that three-week mission.

He felt his struggles become weaker. He saw a needle. Panic flared through his body, intensifying his reactions. But as quickly as the emotional surge came, it subsided as the sedative came into effect; he spent every second awake reaching and struggling towards Al, not for one moment losing sight of his little brother as he was taken away.


	5. Hydrogen and Oxygen

Secrets Are Our Lies

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Hydrogen and Oxygen

Hughes had that day off, but he found his feet trampling towards work. That was after standing outside the prison for other an hour, no idea of what to _do._

No idea what to _think._

He had stood outside of the prison, watching smoke rise out of the chimneys of the prison and laboratory’s roofs, his breath collect in the air and feeling his feet go numb, pins and needles running along his toes.

How could Roy have done such a thing?

Why had his best friend become this kind of puppet when he was the one that should be pulling the strings; he wanted to become the Fuhrer one day, dammit!

Where had that enthusiasm, that _fire,_ gone?

It wasn’t that the fire had been extinguished. Roy had not looked defeated- that had been Ishval. Instead, the Flame Alchemist looked lost. Fire and Roy were two sides of the same kind, like hydrogen and oxygen; they bound together seamlessly and without effort.

Roy had been a void.

But wasn’t that what best friends were for? Wasn’t Maes supposed to know how to comfort Roy in a way no other could, except for Hawkeye and Madame Christmas (whose methods would have been somewhat more direct and harsher)?

Maes must have had a gut that worked overtime, because he always had gut feelings and could always fit the puzzle pieces together. He knew when something was going to go wrong. He had the intuition to solve a crime and prevent more lives being lost. He could figure out the plans of his friends. He could figure out the plans of criminals.

Personal and impersonal.

He did not think he would have to string those two facts together. Criminal friend. Friend who had become a criminal.

_Assassinate the Fuhrer._

Maes shuddered and took a deep breath. There had to be a reason. Roy was strategic and wouldn’t act out of impulse unless it was absolutely necessary.

He had to have had a purpose.

And that’s what Maes needed now. Structure. Stability. A reason to go about his day and let go of this stress; it would eat him alive otherwise.

To begin, he would take a lesson from Roy’s book.

Coffee, black. And a morning stroll.

The feeble sun was approaching its zenith and had made it warm enough to soothe the biting touch of winter. Maes should have been enjoying the early springtime sunshine and not remain cooped up inside his own head.

He nodded his head, setting on the most direct course to Central HQ, where he could grab a takeaway coffee in the process. He was going to go to the office. He was going to sit his ass down and solve this case, as he had done hundreds of time before.

Thirty minutes later found him staring at the swirls of the coffee vapours in a cup on his desk. While Roy could take his without anything, Maes would gag as black coffee touched his lips. 3 sugars and no less would suffice. Everyone else in the office had their day off; Maes usually came in to check on anything pressing and for maintenance. That was one of the thrills of being a higher-ranking officer.

He cracked his knuckles, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and clapped his hands together. He had work to do.

He closed his eyes.

He had to take a step back. He was knee-deep in the troubled waters Roy had stirred. He had to apply logic otherwise he would continuously spiral. And what help would he be to anyone?

None at all.

Maes could be a worried mother hen only when all of this was said and done and he would keep Roy in his line of sight for a year.

And his dumbass crew for that matter for being goaded into his egotistic search for power.

He would not believe they were murderers until he had found every shred of evidence pointing to that truth.

Until then, he had to find a motive.

Means- Roy had erected a (somewhat shabby) underground tunnel just below the ground between the basement of Hawkeye’s apartment complex to the Fuhrer’s personal estate.

Opportunity- Roy couldn’t have planned a worse moment. He was an alchemist, a formidable one at that, so the opportunity to unleash hellflames across the city was endless. And he had a secret operations network he could utilise in an instant. So opportunity did not apply to such a lucky bastard.

Considering Roy’s motive was what was giving Maes a headache (or maybe it was the caffeine).

One thing first: Roy was not a monster. Neither was his team. They would kill but only if every other option had been exhausted. And Roy was smart enough to know he had to work his way up the ranks; assassinating the Fuhrer and trying to take over the military did not make one become Fuhrer. Roy would not have just become impatient; he was ambitious but knew when it was sensible to wait.

So the suddenness of the attempted assassination had been unexpected. The Colonel must have been triggered to act in some way.

That invited an avenue of possibilities and Maes knew this was a sensible line of enquiry to pursue.

Had Roy been blackmailed?

Had Roy found something out?

He had to get into Roy’s state of mind which was no easy task for any individual; the man was a fortress.

Maes would have to take a step back in his thinking process.

What about a literal step back? Hughes’ mind flitted back to the prison. What was next to it? A condemned and broken building. Earlier on there had been smoke rising from both buildings, showing the tell-tale sign of the building being inhabited. Although the Fifth Laboratory was not meant to be functional; the strange people Ed had described had been thoroughly careful to hide evidence of the arrays used to create the Philosopher’s Stone. Ed had been the only eyewitness willing to talk. And not many would have listened to him. Despite being a State Alchemist, in the eyes of the higher up, he was a child weapon that was Mustang’s problem.

The lab had been destroyed and that should have been the end of that.

But why was it still functioning?

He would have to ask an alchemist or scientific researcher about the status of the Fifth Lab, just to confirm his suspicions.

Words trickled into his mind, belonging to Hakuro: _“he is being kept nearby to Fullmetal.”_

Hakuro had been referring to Alphonse. Hakuro had said that Roy and Ed had been kept in isolation, but Al was being kept ‘nearby’.

Maes’ stomach dropped. He saw the smoke rising out of that damn building’s roof.

Was Al being held at the Fifth Laboratory?

There was no avoiding the possibility now; Maes’ leads were guiding him to investigate the Fifth Lab, like Elicia dragging Maes over to an enticing toy shop.

Ed’s trial was set for the day after tomorrow. And Roy’s the day after. This was such short notice; he couldn’t go to the Fifth Lab now, not if people were working there! He was not like Roy; he did not move pawns to do his dirty work-

“What is this line of thought about the Fifth Laboratory about, Lieutenant Colonel?” Major Alex Louis Armstrong was standing at the opened door to his office, a cup and saucer held in one beefy hand.

“Sorry to disturb you, Major!” Hughes hoped to distract the man, feeling himself turn a similar shade of red to a tomato.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, you work yourself too hard! Relaxation is also a noble art one must practice mastering! Especially when you-”

“Start muttering to yourself. Was I?” Hughes slumped in his chair, half-finished coffee abandoned. His head turned to the clock and he realised two hours had passed and it was coming to the end of the lunch hour. Hughes had missed it obviously; he worked on his own work-and-work-some-more schedule. That explained why the Major had stopped by. Alex had simply been returning to Investigations.

“The fatigue of the situation must have gotten to you, old friend,” Armstrong sympathised and Hughes found himself laughing. He really was turning into a madman.

“Say, Major,” Hughes invited the man inside the office onto a chair beside him.

“How can I be of service?”

“I have reason to believe that our _friends_ from downtown have been up to trouble,” Hughes said. _The gang from the Fifth Laboratory might be on the move._

“Oh, I see. Do you think it is worth paying them a visit?” Armstrong replied.

“Yeah, I’d say as a matter of urgency,” Hughes watched Armstrong nod earnestly.

“We can arrange that. We could see how they are faring tonight; I have no plans after my sparring class.”

“How about you, Major? How have you been keeping?”

“We have been having some… family issues, especially those members in the North Area,” Armstrong said. Maes caught on at the change in tone. “Mother had a falling out with my eldest sister. She repeated some coarse words to Father. She even said some words to me, words I heard from an acquaintance in the east.”

“I do hope the situation dissolves soon,” Hughes said earnestly. Nobody would have noticed that he had started taking notes.

“I have been struck with a better idea. Invite your dear family over to our esteemed premises this evening at eight O’clock! Mother and Father have heard me talk about your sweet Elicia-”

“She is sweet isn’t she,” Maes couldn’t help but gush.

“And Miss Rockbell is part of the family, the invite extends to her as well! She has the trial the day after tomorrow,” the Major fell quiet for a moment, his moustache quivering, “she must be able to relax and enjoy the humbling host skills passed down the Armstrong line for generations. It would be most settling for my parents to forget about the woes my sister has placed upon their backs. Catherine can perform her new concerto on the piano for your entertainment too. We will of course be in presence. Any of the guards watching will see you arrive for dinner and leaving later that evening, bellies full and hearts content!

“There is nothing to suspect.” _We can go and check on our friends during the meal. The perfect disguise._

“Quite right, Major, quite right,” Maes could feel himself grinning, his heartbeat quickening in anticipation.

And in the meantime, he would head down to Records to finish his search there he had postponed for weeks. Several unexpected things had happened involving the military recently: Liore’s fall, Roy’s coup and the Fifth Laboratory’s fall and rise. He had started labelling a map attaching these mass incidents occurring throughout the history of Amestris.

These events had three things in common: they were unexpected and occurred with a high enough mortality rate to be of significance.

And they were not necessary tactics.

* * *

He shifted his cramped toe kept within the confines of his boot. His guards were back to being bored, as usual. They had only been excited when Hakuro had come to pay him a visit. With Hughes.

Roy knew he was an ass. The biggest fucking ass that could exist.

He hated himself for keeping Hughes out of this. He had been pushed into a corner, left with no choice.

There was an exit strategy, if everything went to plan.

 _It’s not for long,_ Roy kept reminding himself, expression neutral, blank.

But his gut stabbed with guilt for the way he had treated his team. Even if they forgave him after all this shit cleared up, he knew he won’t be forgiving himself anytime soon.


	6. Questions and More Questions

Secrets Are Our Lies

X

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Questions and More Questions

Being dismantled was unpleasant.

Being without a body was challenging enough. He barely felt connected to the world as it was.

But then to have your substitute body dismantled before you and you gradually lose control of one limb at a time realised how powerless Alphonse could feel in a body that always been too powerful and intimidating.

Every time he had been interrogated after being taken to the Fifth Lab, the personnel had taken away his helmet, his chest plate and then each of his metal limbs, like stripping away his dignity. He could exert control over the metal when it was in contact to the piece of armour attached to his blood seal. And now he was stuck, staring at the door and windowless room, trying to remember what the stars looked like.

He would even prefer to look at Central’s smog rather than the dank ceiling in the room he was occupying.

But by having to stare at those walls day in day out helped Al deduce some things: they were underground; he never heard traffic passing. And that would explain the lack of windows. He also knew this room had been alchemically crafted but someone who was a relatively gifted alchemist. There were faint residue transmutation marks in the corners of the room, almost unnoticeable to the less observant.

Professor Anderson and her crew treated him as more than an animal, but less than a human. Perhaps that meant he was treated like a ghost. He was not caged and occupied a large room with various lab experiments occurring, But he could not move. His mind itched to occupy itself with something, a book preferably.

But learning to manage his patience was a skill he had become proficient in since not needing to sleep in this body.

But what he wanted most was his brother.

In the time they had travelled seeking the Philosopher’s Stone and after finding out the truth about its abominable secret ingredient, another way to get their bodies back, they had been separated for mere weeks. The Elric brothers always seemed to be together but were also independent.

Al wondered what Ed would be doing. Had he been eating his food? Drinking his milk if they gave it to him? Or had he caused a ruckus and was on his way to bust Al out of the Fifth Lab right now?

Al should have wished that Ed was being calm and not stirring up trouble. But he wanted Ed to cause a fuss; that was a sign that the Elric brother had not lost hope.

Whenever Al brought up his brother, the research team in the room with him would ignore him. It did not concern Al. They found a way to change the topic but Al was smart enough to know they were avoiding the topic on purpose. He would mention Colonel Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye and he was greeted with the same apathetic response, as if none of them existed.

Or it was a way for them to punish Al for not answering their questions, even when they had reduced him to a sheet of metal with a soul bound to it by a blood seal.

He had been as unhelpful answering questions as he could, making sure he gave nothing away.

He had not seen the Professor since his first day here. He could not forget the sonorous clicking her heels made on the ground however. A few moments later, there was a fumbling of keys, the click of a lock and the door squeaked open.

Usually at least four members of her research team were sent to question him. Al thought they coalesced in large numbers to intimidate him. But this time, it was just her and another individual that stomped into the room afterwards.

The second person was a stranger to Al. They had black hair that spiked out in every direction; they were not wearing shoes and their eyes were an odd shade of lilac. As Al took in the features of the stranger, he felt his soul shiver.

“You!” Alphonse hissed as he saw the Ouroboros mark on the stranger’s leg.

“Me?” the stranger pointed at themselves, “I am here, yeah! Dragged here, ol’ Lusty had errands to run and wouldja believe it, she thought ‘useless Envy’ was moping. I’ll show her when she’s back from that damn mission…

“I’m getting distracted though aren’t I! Nice to meet ya, Pipsqueak’s brother. Name’s Envy. You’re lucky, not many get the privilege to see this face. You’re meant to be the more rational brother, right? Stop causing trouble and let the good Professor find out what she needs to know!”

Envy… So this was the person who had knocked Ed out unconscious and killed the Slicer brothers? The one who had been so determined to destroy the Fifth Laboratory, but had automatically had parts of the building restored? For what purpose if they were no longer making Philosopher’s Stones there?

Too many questions. Too few answers.

 _Calm down, Al,_ he softly scolded himself, finding clarity in his headspace

“I don’t know what your game is or why you are here. I don’t want to cause trouble, I just want my brother,” Al whined in a childish voice, the most annoying one he could generate.

“How old is he?” Envy turned to the Professor.

“Our records show he’s 14. The elder is 15,” Anderson replied curtly. She was gazing at Alphonse inquisitively, like a cat watching her prey, making an assessment before she pounced.

“Sounds like a whinging brat to me,” Envy sighed, “let’s just get this out of the way.”

“You’re an alchemist, right?” Envy queried bluntly but then Al heard him mutter strange words like ‘sacrifice’ and ‘promise’ under their breath.

“My brother is the Fullmetal Alchemist,” Al said simply and after a lengthened pause he elaborated, “I can do a little alchemy, like repairing objects. I don’t really know…”

“How did you end up being a suit of armour? How did you lose your body?” Envy hissed, their pupils becoming slits. Professor Anderson tensed her shoulders.

“I don’t know,” Al emphasised, lacing frustration into his voice, hoping it would be convincing, “Ed is the Fullmetal Alchemist. Can you take me to him? It’s uncomfortable being like this…”

“We assume it was the Fullmetal Alchemist that bound Alphonse Elric to this suit of armour. He is harmless in this state and clearly no prodigy like his brother,” Professor Anderson sighed, disappointed. Alphonse’s ploy seemed to be working; he had not given away he was a competent alchemist to any of the research team during their interrogations.

“What do you want from us?” Al would have glared between Anderson and Envy, but he lacked both a physical body and a helmet. He hoped his words carried the conviction enough.

“We want answers,” Professor Anderson said abruptly, her fingers massaging her temple.

She sighed and took a breath, “we’re interested in helping Amestris. Many people are sick and diseased. A body like yours would help save lives. Do you know how you got this body, Alphonse? Do you have any memories, any research you and your brother may have completed? Did you have an alchemist that mentored you?”

Alphonse was grateful he did not have a body which would give away his emotions. Because he would have gasped. He saw Envy snickering softly to themselves and the Professor did not notice. The two clearly had very different motives.

“Not really,” Al lied, “my memories before are hazy. I woke up and my brother told me what happened. There was a war… the Ishvalan Civil War. We were hurt. I was hurt more. And Brother saved me.”

Al felt something lodge in his imaginary throat. He was suggesting that his brother had been the one to recklessly perform human transmutation, while Al, an onlooker, had been clueless and dragged into Ed’s schemes. But that was the opposite of the truth. If Al had spoken up, if he had shared his doubt about the chalk circle etched on the basement floor, Ed would not have had to cry through automail surgery, he would not have had to sell his soul to the State, he would not have had to hold secrets in his heart that made him hurt so much…

He was real. Their pain was real. Brother had sacrificed so much for his life. Al hoped Ed would forgive him. He needed to stall and find time. Ed’s trial was the day after tomorrow. He had to wait until then…just a couple of days left.

“So you do not know anything?” Anderson’s voice was flat.

“I do know stuff!” Al protested childishly, “I can write the alphabet in Cretan _and_ Xingese. I know how to transmute the elements.”

“It’s as I thought,” the Professor said.

“Huh?” Envy asked, finally over their giggling fit.

“Edward Elric must have used part of his subconscious desires to manifest a brother. Alphonse Elric is the product of a lonely prodigy’s imagination. Parents not around. Injured in the war. Lonely enough to perform human transmutation to create a soul; he can transmute without a circle.”

This is what she believed?

“So the pipsqueak is the only sacrifice? This one is useless?” Envy sighed heavily but neither Anderson nor Alphonse understood what they were confused about.

“This isn’t adding up,” Envy continued, starting to pace the room, “you were both found at Wra- Fuhrer Bradley’s failed assassination attempt! Why were you brats there?”

“I don’t know!” Al repeated honestly this time. Ed had been surprisingly quiet (he had known about the Colonel’s intentions but kept most of the details from Al).

The words rang across Al’s armour for a second and faded into silence. Nobody spoke a word; the only sound that could be heard were Envy’s surprisingly heavy

“He isn’t being entirely truthful with us,” Envy paused, their voice serious, frigid as ice. Al found himself feeling uncomfortable.

“But my theory-” the Professor interrupted.

“They’re hiding something from us!” Envy shouted, “and I’m not in the damn mood to wait around guessing.”

“What do you intend to do?” the Professor asked.

“Make him talk,” Envy pointed at Al. “I’ll be back tomorrow. You’d better be talkin’ then or I’ll have to make ya. Actually, that’ll show Lusty. I’ll loosen up and have some fun.”

Envy sniggered to themselves and set to retreat from the room, the Professor following after them.

Al finally let his guard down and he shuddered. He had stalled the researchers. But in the meantime, he had thrown Ed to the wolves. When they had first been captured, Al had promised Ed he would plead ignorance to anything and he wished he had not. He remembered the panic in his brother’s eyes when he had asked Al to keep that promise. Al had not had a chance to think; he had made the promise, anything to stop his brother from suffering.

Al had faith in Colonel Mustang and Brother. He only hoped they could all hold out until

And while Envy was trying to get as much information out of him as possible, Al thought he would try and do the same. He was an Elric brother after all; they always found what they sought in the end.

Before any time had passed, Al heard a rumble. He had to pay careful attention but he could hear voices. Envy and the Professor could not be back already? Or could it be the researchers coming to check on their projects? Or had Al lost track of the days and it was time for Ed’s trial already?

But as he focused, he realised the voices were coming from _above,_ although he could not make out what was being said as they were muffled. He had never heard anyone talking above him; he assumed he was being contained below part of the derelict Fifth Laboratory.

The situation was only becoming more complex. More questions were piling up in Al’s mind and he still lacked answers.

Who would be turning up to the abandoned Fifth Laboratory late at night?


	7. A World Apart

Secrets Are Our Lies

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A World Apart

Maes had to admit he felt quite self-conscious being dressed all in black wandering through the streets of Central in the dark.

His family (Winry included) were tucked up safely at the Armstrong mansion and they had been treated to a five course dinner which was a treat even to the Armstrong’s, who usually dined on four.

The Hughes had arrived on time for an invited meal; there was nothing odd about the occasion. Except for the chauffer that had driven the Lieutenant Colonel and Major to a quiet part of the city, towards the north-east, where they had been inconspicuously dropped off. It meant a bit of a walk, which increased their risk of discovery, although he knew it was safer to be dropped closer to the edges of the city to avoid suspicion. A pristine vehicle was only guaranteed to attract unwanted attention in the heart of Central.

He also knew this sector was one of Madam Christmas’ hotspots for gathering her intel. Hughes hoped he knew how much of a prat her adopted son was and how Maes was putting his neck on the line like a prat himself for Roy.

At least the Major would be the only one able to regale this story with him. And while the Alex was not bad company once one got past his usual topic of Armstrong family anecdotes, he was philosophical and an intelligent man. Money could buy someone a place in the military, but money could not buy a State Alchemist certification.

The Strong Arm Alchemist was wearing civilian clothes like Maes. He had opted for a grey jumper and trackpants, which did well to hide the muscular bulk he usually had on show. People on the streets were avoiding them, likely intimidated by the Major rather than Armstrong blended in. Maes had a gut feeling that was not possible for any of his noble family.

And while Maes was on friendly terms and comfortable with the Major, he wasn’t _Roy._ The lack of familiarity made his chest hurt; Maes couldn’t tease Alex the same way he could Roy about pictures of his darling wife and daughter. Maes could not utter an inside joke and watch Roy in delight as the Colonel either glared at him and scowled or glared at him and smiled. There was an easiness of their relationship, one that transcended words; even if they spent months apart, they could get together and nothing changed.

That friendship had taken years (and some life-threatening situations) to forge. Maes simply lacked that with the Major.

That might start changing tonight however…

Hughes and Armstrong walked on opposite sides of the pavement and Hughes walked slightly ahead of the Major. Seeing them together could have raised suspicion. And when Maes reached the labelled street he had pointed out on the map to Alex earlier, he took a left turn while Armstrong kept walking ahead; they were going to rendezvous at the Fifth Lab.

His stomach rumbled. Before a mission, nerves always made him lose his appetite. He had enjoyed his extravagant dinner, although he had only been able to pick at a small part of each dish. Now he was in the field, his stomach was protesting. Karma was a bitch.

Hughes’ mind drifted to thinking about Mustang’s team members, secure in Central’s other prison on the other side of HQ. Hughes missed Havoc’s infectious laugh, Fuery’s quiet determination, Breda’s relaxed but talented mind, Falman’s budding emotional understanding and of course Hawkeye’s unwavering loyalty. Roy had found himself one heck of a team.

And he knew he was counted as part of that team. Not a subordinate, but like Roy’s right-hand; when the Colonel had a midnight crisis, Maes always picked up on the other end of the phoneline. They would talk until dawn more often than they should have. While his family were set up in Central, Mustang’s military family had found a home in East City. Despite the distance, they remained connected.

Maes had been thrilled to bits when he had heard that the talks of Roy’s transfer to Central had been underway recently.

But now his friends were so close; they were in the same city dammit! A short walk away…

And yet they were a world apart.

The desire to have Alex don his alchemical gauntlets and just smash Roy and his team out of the prison had reached a peak.

Maes wandered through the busier and more central part of the city to reach the lab, while Alex had taken the suburban scenic route. Maes looked up briefly from the protective warmth of his completely zipped up coat to see people chatting in fancy restaurants, while others seemed deep in eloquent conversation and others seemed they would rather be anywhere else apart from there. All of these oblivious souls who would sleep easily never knowing the truth.

Some souls never slept.

He had had the chance to think more about the incidents of bloodshed at the key landmarks in Amestris. And he knew there had to be corruption in the military, a mysterious puppeteer pulling human lives like _strings,_ creating destruction for some god-knows-what reason.

Except he had more of an idea now.

Using his map at home, he had joined the dots of every military incident- whether that be coup or uprising or insurgence or border skirmish- and he saw a circle. A giant fat transmutation circle looking slyly up at him from the piece of paper. He had not dared tell Armstrong, or anyone for that matter. Not yet anyway.

He had to make sure they had utmost privacy. And considering the other three alchemists he would have consulted on the matter were fucking locked up, he had been left with little choice.

Lives could be at stake. But Maes had a more pressing time limit; he could still not fathom that Ed was having the first of the series of military trials Roy’s team had to look forward to starting the day after next.

He was getting distracted again _dammit._

While he had been lost in his mental meanderings, his feet had faithfully led him to the Fifth Laboratory. He remained hidden in an alleyway opposite, waiting for the Major to approach. And when the Major came into view ten minutes later, Maes remained where he was. He watched from the opposite street as Armstrong took what looked like a crumb of chalk from his pocket and drop it on the ground. Seemingly preoccupied in picking up his dropped object to any onlooker, Maes knew Alex was sketching a transmutation circle. Tiny alchemical sparks flashed for half a second and Maes felt his heart leap into his chest. Just above the ground, a tunnel with a two-metre diameter had been transmuted into the wall that would allow Maes and Armstrong to crawl through, avoiding the fortified barbwire for any that attempted to trespass the Fifth Lab by climbing over that wall.

A couple of more sparks flashed consecutively. Security alchemical seals concealed directly in front of the tunnel. If the arrays were stepped on, meaning someone had discovered their infiltration, then corresponding alchemical bands on the Major’s wrist would heat up, alerting that they needed to find another way to escape.

Alex was cleverer than people gave him credit for.

Maes obediently waited for another ten minutes before crossing discretely across the street. Alex took the lead and he immediately followed. The tunnel was conveniently disguised by ivy draped over the entrance. It tickled the back of Maes neck as the dragged himself through the gap, dust trickling somewhat ominously from above him.

He nearly bumped into the Major as he emerged from the tunnel as he took in his surroundings. The building had literally been reduced to the ground. Maes could not see any sign of life from the derelict pile of rubble. It was exactly as how Brosh and Ross had described it in their reports; it was as though a god had taken their first and crumbled the building to dust.

But there was still smoke coming out of the skeletal remains of a chimney. The smoke was furling slowly, discrete enough not to be noticed by a regular onlooker. Hughes had to point it out to Armstrong, who had been perplexed to what Hughes was staring at. It was only through Maes’ years looking for obscure clues at crime scene that gave him the clue he needed here: this building was still functioning.

 _Be careful. Advance with caution,_ Hughes made the hand signals for the military commands and Armstrong nodded in response. Maes decided to skirt the perimeter, staying close to the wall in case they needed to escape with quick notice. But he didn’t want to leave this place without finding out any leads.

While darkness draped over Central like a cloak, the scant lighting from the street and adjacent buildings was sufficient for Hughes to see enough. His ears were picking up every crack of rubble beneath their feet, every steady breath he inhaled and exhaled. He could smell asphalt and moss.

Halfway around the perimeter, Hughes realised there was nothing out of the ordinary about the building. The whole ground floor was derelict; there was no chance that research projects were taking place here unless there was an underground system.

Hughes had no recollection of the Fifth Lab having any underground facilities. Had they been crudely construction since the demise of the Fifth Lab? Or maybe they had always existed but someone had not wanted them to be discovered?

Could they still be taking prisoners from the prison to the laboratory via this underground system?

Had the mystery tattoo gang continued researching Philosopher’s Stones?

But Maes was distracted from his thoughts when heard a sudden _clank._

There was no imagining it. With reflexes from countless years doing this, he moved his arm to dislodge a dagger from its position and it landed in his palm. He clutched the weapon, eyes scanning for the source of the sound. Armstrong had similarly raised his weapons.

“Damn that’s my cover gone. I was really hoping I got to chop ya up,” a voice said sadly from the shadows, emerging forwards slowly. The source of the voice was a suit of armour holding butcher’s cleavers, their voice oddly dissonant like Armstrong.

Maes knew about the truth of this ‘Barry the Chopper’ character. His true identity had been kept from the official military report, but like a mother hen, Maes knew what all of his military family was doing.

Maes kept his weapon raised, his expression tense and guarded. Barry had apparently escaped when the lab had fallen, not being needed as its guard dog anymore. What was he doing back here? Did that confirm that the lab was functioning again?

“At least I can still frighten ya,” he said joyfully and shook his makeshift head. He raised his voice theatrically, as if he had been rehearsing this moment. “I bet you are wondering, why is there a guard here? Well what if I told ya that I was a guard, but I’m not anymore. I’m a _murderer._ ”

The words were overly sinister but Maes could not help but laugh softly.

“Sorry, Barry, but I know who you are! I know you are acquainted with Edward and Alphonse Elric,” Maes said quietly.

“The shorty and tin man? Oh them idiots…” Barry tutted, “well isn’t that a shame.”

“And you are acquainted with Sergeant Brosh and Lieutenant Ross, I take it?” Armstrong added.

“If you’re talking about their piddly guards, then, of course I remember them,” the Chopper hissed, “that one landed a bullet through my glove! And I assume that this won’t terrify ya either then.”

At that moment, Barry lifted his helmet. To nobody’s surprise, Barry had no human body and he muttered a quiet “dammit!”

“I guess I won’t be chopping anyone up tonight,” Barry slumped back against the side of the wall, stroking one of his weapons, “this will be no fun.”

“No chopping people up,” Maes confirmed.

“Oh, but this is intriguing! I heard them Elric brothers have been naughty. Trying to get a taste out of my books. I remember the first time I killed-”

“ _They_ _did not kill,_ ” Maes hissed, the words escaping his lips before he could stop them.

“Sorry for hitting a nerve, pal! Hm, ya must be close to them. Who are you? You don’t look like military. I recognised those hand signals though. But the military have been told to steer clear of the Fifth Lab, after all it is an abandoned site and ‘dangerous’. Nothing dangerous could keep ol’ Barry away,” the armour chuckled, the sound sonorous and way too loud for Maes.

“I have some questions for you, Barry,” Maes said earnestly, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate.

“What’s the rush? Why not enjoy the thrill of a midnight kill with me? Unless you aren’t supposed to be here,” Barry spoke to himself more than the others.

“The Elric brothers did not kill. I think they have been framed, as well as Ed’s superior officer.”

“La de da, I don’t care!” Barry waved those cleavers around the air like a juggler but suddenly paused, looking thoughtful, “but those pipsqueaks would not end mine or 48’s life when we fought. None of their attacks were not lethal. To be truthful, I was never hopeful they would follow the murdering path…”

“Barry, I could really use your help. Do you have any leads or information about the Fifth Lab?” Maes asked. He would get on his knees and grovel to this murderer if it came to it, but he had other cards of persuasion up his sleeve to utilise first.

“What’s in it for me?” the Chopper would have smiled if he could have, Maes was sure, “remember this, pal, I work for _nobody_ no more.”

Maes took a moment to think. What could he offer a criminal? A full military pardon was unattainable the way the higher ups had been shaken by Roy’s little fiasco and likely something that would not entice Barry. A rematch fight with the Elric brothers? Somewhere to live?

“My family have a pair of relic daggers recently restored that may be of interest to you,” Alex suddenly offered. Barry titled his helmet, intrigued, so the Major continued, “they were used by my great-uncle Kingsworth Armstrong and his children to hunt down wild game. They are specialist hunting daggers.”

“Oh ho, I do like the sound of some new shiny tools to chop up my meat,” Barry sounded like a child finding out what they were getting for their birthday, “ya have yourself a deal.”

“Could we arrange for you to come and talk to us in return for what the Major has offered?” Maes asked the armour who nodded, their armour creaking. Barry clearly did not take care of his body the same way that Alphonse did.

“Sure! When are ya thinkin’? Next week? Next month?”

“Tomorrow. At dawn. By the Crow’s Nest,” Hughes immediately replied. Armstrong’s eyes widened in concern. The Crow’s Nest was the shadiest pub in Central, but that was what Maes needed. Because nobody would ask questions.

“For these promising weapons, I’ll be there. I’m going to be up all night in excitement! Not that it makes any difference. I’m sure ya already know this but I don’t need to sleep! Oh poor Lusty and Stella and the gang, they’re going to get a shock when they find out ol’ Barry has been up to no good.”

And he started sniggering to himself.

Hughes looked at Armstrong, concerned (as if he wasn’t enough so already). He waited for Barry to tell him more, but the suit of armour now shook his helmet from side to side.

“You can find out more when I see those gorgeous daggers,” Barry said oddly formally, disappearing into the shadows once again. “I like to lure in all of my… customers…”

Perturbed, Maes gestured towards the tunnel and Armstrong took the hint. They had taken a risk getting here and they weren’t going to risk getting caught when they had had a gemstone of a lead handed in their laps in the form of Barry the Chopper.

The guilt that gnawed at his gut was omnipresent; if he could bust all of them out of jail now, then he would.

And Alphonse…

If he really was in the Fifth Lab…

Hughes knew he couldn’t storm in there now. He had to wait for Barry’s intel. He would give the murderer a chance to help in his investigation.

But he was going straight to the Fifth Lab after regardless of the information he could obtain from Barry’s interview.

It felt like he had made no progress. But Maes felt a tugging in his gut, giving him determination, a purpose, motivation.

They had a lead to follow.


	8. Tandem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a slower chappie, but important to set up the scenario for Ed and Roy. Bear with them, folks :)

Secrets Are Our Lies

_Is it better to know more... or less?_

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Tandem

He awoke to hear a loud bang. Had the guards become so deprived of entertainment that they had taken to dumping his food on the ground?

Ed was disappointed; he thought he provided them with enough entertainment, what with his adamant refusal to answer any of their questions.

He hobbled over from his bed (more of a mattress than a bed) towards the bars of his cell. His bathroom break wouldn’t be until morning now. Inconsiderate dumbasses. Who only went to the bathroom twice a day? It was something he had had to adjust to.

The loud bang sounded again. Ed peered out down the corridor of unoccupied cells. The sound was closer but there was still nobody in sight.

And then he heard footsteps.

The sound was the rhythmic synchronisation of military personnel. He had an entourage bring him food, but impossibly it seemed like more people were coming his way. There was a guard immediately sat outside of his cell on a chair, out of touching distance, but close enough for Ed to say loudly, “hey, what the hell is going on?”

The guard, who had been drifting in and out of sleep, shook back to attention, swore under her breath when she checked her watch and stood up, the chair creaking on the smooth surface below.

“What the hell is going on?” Ed hissed.

The guard ignored him, as usual, so Ed had to make do with peering down the corridor as best he could in his condition.

Ed saw the looming figure of General Grand approaching. There were lower ranking soldiers surrounding him, but he was the one carrying the package, the prize.

Colonel Mustang was hoisted over Grand’s shoulder. Mustang was in the same stupid prison jacket and boots that he was wearing. Not only could they not perform alchemy, but they couldn’t even damn walk. Being hoisted over someone’s shoulders was _not fun._ Ed knew from experience when Al had had no choice but to drag his protesting ass away from a crowd.

Seeing Mustang thrown carelessly over someone’s shoulder irked a nerve in Ed’s brain. Perhaps because he associated the man with power and authority; to have him being treated so carelessly pissed Ed off. He could treat the Colonel like shit, but that was different. And also highlighted the sense of powerlessness Ed felt. He wriggled his arms as best he could in the straitjacket but regretted it instantly; the contraption became tighter around his torso. It already felt uncomfortable to breathe. His ribs pressed against the material. Without being able to work out, his physique and muscles were beginning to deteriorate. Not much, but a noticeable difference to Ed.

He knew all about anatomy. He wouldn’t let himself forget how he had lost Al’s body to the Gate. He privately monitored and mused in his mind about the state Al’s body would be at a certain time, how long his hair had grown, if he was still able to stand.

It was Ed’s fault.

Muscles atrophied twice as fast as it took to rebuild them.

So Ed had stopped complaining as much. He could spend his energy into something useful, like getting the hell out of here, rather than admonishing himself for looking like a circus freak (which he did).

Ed was glad he still had his automail at least.

In a cell adjacent and perpendicular to Ed’s, there was a fumble of keys and the cell door was forced open. Grand deposited his package on the makeshift bed. One of the MP’s had brought food for Ed. But nothing for Mustang.

“Back off,” the guard warned Ed, as had become protocol. Ed usually stepped away from the bars, the guard slid his food through an unlocked flap and proceeded to lock it again. The dish was usually taken away while he slept.

“Where’s his?” Ed challenged Grand, gesturing to the unconscious Colonel.

“You’ll address me with the manners I’m due, Fullmetal,” Grand warned.

“Sir,” Ed added.

“Colonel Mustang has already eaten. He enjoyed his time in solitary. And then he got to meet with Lieutenant Colonel Hughes earlier today, Hakuro informed me. He is lucky to have company. We thought it would be punishment, seeing your troubled relationship with each other.”

“Punishment for what?”

“For not being obedient,” Grand said with spite, backing off from the cell. Another guard took a seat in the unoccupied seat outside of Mustang’s cell.

“What the hell did you do to him,” Ed accused and snidely added “Sir”.

“We just gave him some…news, Fullmetal,” Grand turned away and the guards watching Flame and Fullmetal saluted. “I would love to have a little chat with you myself… let’s schedule one for tomorrow.

“I look forward to seeing you then.”

_Shit. SHIT._

Some of the researchers from the Fifth Lab came to visit him everyday. They asked him questions and he answered with as much simplicity as he could, especially uttering “don’t remember” when the questioning targeted biomedical alchemy. He wanted to veer them off the topic of human transmutation. However, he could not plead ignorance; he was the youngest State Alchemist in history. To let one as young as him enrol in the military made him a guaranteed prodigy. He feigned that his only area of expertise involved stone and metal transmutations.

He spoke at length about how he modelled his automail into a spear (leaving out one or two crucial details of course and he may have said the wrong sum from the iron to carbon conversation ratio…). He couldn’t give away all his secrets, could he?

He had found the perfect balance of bullshit to satisfy the researchers and satisfy the military.

Because when they answered, they told him about Al.

They were honest. And while Ed wanted to knock the researchers unconscious for stripping his little brother apart like that, he had not been harmed. The taser had not hurt; the pain had been a reaction to the shock.

Ed breathed in the bastard’s commands like a mantra.

They could not cause a fuss. He could not cause a fuss. And Al could not cause a fuss. Mustang had warned that if he and Ed could not follow these instructions, then people could die.

He was keeping quiet to save lives, no matter how out of character he felt.

But if anything happened to Al, or he thought the researchers were lying about his brother’s safety, he was going to tear this place apart. The Colonel’s warning would not change his mind.

Said Colonel was still passed out. Ed had to talk to him. He couldn’t see the man clearly, but he did not seem to be hurt.

With these guards watching over him, it would have seemed impossible to talk to the Colonel in private. But he was no novice.

He grinned that wicked grin that branded him as a ‘troublemaker’.

He had been complacent for long enough…

* * *

Ed’s plan worked like a charm. As he had predicted, the results had been flawless.

It had been helpful that Ed had not caused a ruckus for the past week; the guards underestimated him.

The guards had spent the first few hours talking about boring topics like the Central City Hockey Team (and how they had lost to West City, what a shame- Ed never had time to invest in sport teams).

While they were discussing the pointless crap, Ed had eaten the worst offerings of the slop but had been given some garlic bread. He had left the bread intentionally.

And he had used alchemy.

Not only could he perform alchemy without a transmutation circle and without leaving transmutation marks, but he could perform alchemy with minimal discharge. The blue sparks and light generated in a transmutation were a wasted energy conversation. If Ed was going to get Al’s body back, he couldn’t afford for one atom of energy to be wasted. He had learnt to perform silent transmutations, but he didn’t bother to use them often as they required a lot of focus.

He couldn’t clap, so a circle was required.

He had been given no utensils, so he had to make the circle with his damn face. His damn nose would have to do.

He picked up the plate with his teeth and slurped at half of the slop, but let some fall on top of the garlic bread. He sketched the circle he required, mustered his concentration and transmuted.

The slop transformed into a whitish powder, which blended into the garlic bread with ease. He had transmuted the slop into a sleeping powder: not potent enough to kill, but with enough strength to knockout its target for an hour.

He had feigned sleep and thank goodness Mustang was either unconscious or asleep too.

And as he had suspected, his guard had unlocked the food delivery flap and grabbed the garlic bread, snapping the bread in half for his colleague to share.

Only fifteen minutes after whoofing down the food, the two guards were snoring quietly in their seats.

They had an hour to talk in private.

There were guards further along the corridor, including the stairs and escalator that delivered the prisoners to solitary. Ed was sure there was a guard posted on the other side of the wall to his cell, in case he had planned to make an escape with alchemy. And that would explain why the guards were so lax in front of his cell.

There had to be additional security, Ed was sure of it.

So they had to make the time worthwhile.

“Get up, you lazy ass!” Ed called towards the Colonel, “caffeine addict! Jerkface! Bastard Colonel!”

The Colonel finally stirred at the last insult.

“Bastard Colonel! Bastard narcissistic vain asshole Colonel! Rise and shine, bastard. We don’t have all day,” Ed said loudly. If his calculations were correct, loud noise wouldn’t be waking up those guards.

And he was rarely wrong when it came to alchemy.

It took several minutes for the Colonel to stir, but groggily wake up he did. He struggled to sit up. And as he did, he stared at the wall while doing so. He looked drained.

“Oi, bastard, I’m over here. I’ve bet you’ve missed making an example of me,” Ed teased.

Mustang said nothing.

“I would offer you some garlic bread, but I can’t get over to you. Also, it’s drugged, so I would not advice it…”

No response.

“I hope you’re proud, I didn’t cause a fuss like you said. What are you planning, you bastard? I have some ideas. Even if I know you better now, I still don’t understand you,” Ed said in as close to a friendly tone as he could for Mustang. If he sounded friendly or grateful when they weren’t in a life threatening situation, it would be awkward.

“Do you know anything about Hawkeye and the others? Al?” he asked hopefully.

Still no reaction from the black-haired man.

“Come on, bastard, talk to me. You never shut up about yourself,” Ed pleaded. Being in solitary the past week had been hard. He had spoken to nobody and that amount of isolation was not healthy for anybody. He had started to think about what Al and Winry and Techer and the bastard would say to him. Praising him for being discrete, warning him about the consequences of his actions, discussing alchemical theories silently. It had helped the long days pass.

Finally, goddamn _finally,_ the bastard turned to look at him.

Since when had the bastard looked so tired?

Since when had the bastard looked so dead?

Between that morning and evening, a switch had been flicked in the Flame Alchemist’s brain.

“They’re going to kill him,” Roy Mustang muttered under his breath. Ed had got him talking and he would not stop; that was the only thing he repeated for the entire night.


	9. Elephant in the Room

Secrets Are Our Lies

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Elephant in the Room 

She wasn’t alone.

But she felt a part of her missing.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Riza heard a hand slam against the cell opposite her. Havoc sat up, mirroring Riza in his prison attire. He was sweating from his workout and also from something else the team had been hearing on repeat for the past week.

“I need a smoke!”

“Come on, Havoc, you were trying to quit. Take this as an opportunity in disguise,” Breda replied with a smirk. He couldn’t see his companion but Riza could see him sit up, glad to have a conversation to distract him from the mundane prison routine.

“Perspiration is a common withdrawal symptom from nicotine. Are you certain you have reduced smoking these past six months?” Falman interjected.

“I’ve _cut down,_ Falman,” Havoc hissed and started fanning his face, “but quitting isn’t easy!”

“You should not have started such behaviour in the first instance. You know how damaging it can be to your cardiovascular system, Lieutenant Havoc,” Hawkeye watched as Havoc’s jaw dropped.

“Are ya all against me here? For a simple country soul like me, we usually started smoking at sixteen,”

“I don’t see Edward smoking,” Breda sniggered. Havoc shot him an unseen glance.

“The Boss has more important things on my mind. And the Chief must have smoked before Hawkeye scared it out of him!”

“Imagine that! The Colonel would never be able to rest in peace. He wouldn’t have had the chance to even start, I bet,” Breda shrugged towards Hawkeye and she acquiesced.

“How do ya think he’s holding up? Imagine he’s missing being nagged at to get work done,” Havoc wiped the sweat off his forehead, latching onto his opportunity to change the conversation.

And there it was. The elephant in the room.

The Colonel.

She heard his voice and watched his back turned away from her.

The years of following his footsteps were seconds in her mind. Riza Hawkeye would have repeated the same path she took again in a heartbeat.

It had led her to the people she was with today. From the red-haired Lieutenant Breda rubbing his stubble absentmindedly to Lieutenant Havoc doing sit-ups on repeat. She couldn’t see Falman or Fuery, but they were locked in adjacent cells either side of her. They had all made the same choice she had: to follow the Colonel into the crypts. Riza had taken that oath further. Even when the Colonel was dead, she was going to wade across the firestorms of Hell. The Colonel had promised he would strive to make this world a better place. The least she could do when she died was taunt troublemakers.

Death did not phase her. As a soldier and later an officer, she had willingly signed her life away. One day she would stand trial for the abominations she had committed in Ishval. And she was prepared for that day to come.

But not until the Colonel had kept his promise. They had to continue living to right wrongs and so the next generation could rest easily. An image of a worried blonde-haired girl and another girl in pigtails with green eyes came to mind.

She raised her gun to protect, that was all. The absence of a comfortable weight of a holster by her side made her fingers twitch instinctively.

The Colonel was being kept in the more secure prison, the one which housed the likes of Kimblee, the crazed Crimson Alchemist from Ishval. Edward and Alphonse were there too. Riza and the team were here, housed together, as if they were complacent. A common misconception was that if their superior is shut away, his subordinates would fall in line and behave.

Which they were doing so far.

Hawkeye knew the signal. The team knew.

But there was one hiccup in their plan, the very individual the plan depended upon: Hughes.

Hughes was not meant to get involved, but Hawkeye knew without a trace of uncertainty that he would invest his life shares, his car and his soul to help his best friend and his team.

The anxiety had been stemming within the Colonel for months, including just before his mission to Liore. Hawkeye found the strings of memory unfolding before her eyes…

_Hawkeye had been getting ready to bed. Hayate has been asleep for several hours already. She had been pouring over a book when she had received a telephone call._

_Blinking away hazy eyes, she went to answer the phone, wondering who was calling her at this hour. Not_ who. _But why he was calling her at what she deemed an ‘unreasonable’ hour._

_She still picked up._

_“Good evening, Colonel,” she spoke._

“Evening, Lieutenant. I thought I’d call to… see how you’re doing…” _Mustang answered. He sounded incredibly tipsy and overly concerned. He was many types of drunk but concerned was not usually one of them. He sounded weak and vulnerable._

_“Is everything ok, Sir?” she prompted gently._

“Yeah… things just got weird,” _Riza could hear him take another sip. Probably of whiskey._

_“Weird, how, Sir?”_

“General Grand…Iron Blood… he wanted to meet me this evening for a meal. Had to cancel my date, Lieutenant. But he told me… stuff. And I drank. And it really went to my head,” _the Colonel was taking time to think over his words. Riza had to admit he sounded off. He was able to stomach his alcohol well and if he was tipsy, most of it was for show._

“Nobody has come to your apartment have they?” _Mustang said. When Hawkeye confirmed his question, he relaxed. Riza’s own grip on the phone relaxed slightly. Her knuckles were white._

“General Grand said someone…Hughes!” _Mustang panicked._

_“Sir, where are you, I can come-”_

“No, no, no,” _he muttered,_ “I order you to stay!” _He would always take advantage of help from his team if he could. Not in a vindictive way but he trusted them. Hawkeye swallowed bile rising up in her throat._

“It has to be Hughes,” _and then the phoneline went dead. Riza held the silent phone in her firm grip for another moment, amber eyes glancing at it. She slammed it back on the receiver, waking at Hayate, who gave a loud yip in surprise._

_“Hayate, I need your assistance,” she said earnestly to her loyal companion. She was already moving towards her bedroom to change._

_“Colonel. Find,” and Hayate barked in understanding rising to his paws, tail wagging frantically, ready to help his master._

_Colonel Mustang had commanded her to remain at her residence._

_She headed out anyway and found him passed out in one of Madame Christmas’ pubs. But the Madame was not present and neither were any of the Colonel’s adopted sisters. It was just him slumped over a bar and a surly barkeep glad he didn’t have to mess with the Flame Alchemist. When Riza enquired about the state of the Colonel, she just received a grunt in response, “work gets to us all.”_

_She helped him back to his house, unlocking the front door with her spare key. A clock in the hallway announced it was 3am. Making sure the Colonel had had some water and tucked safely into bed, she went to stay in the guest bedroom next door._

_She heard him snoring softly and her mind was finally put at some ease._

And then the Colonel and Edward had set off to Liore for three weeks.

When he had returned, Edward continued to slam his way into the office. He continuously swore at the Colonel and the Colonel would act smug and indifferent. But Riza noticed subtle changes in their dynamic. Like how Edward had handed in a fully written and legible report of a case or how the Colonel ‘accidently’ left an edition of an alchemic textbook he prized on his desk and it had mysteriously vanished overnight.

Riza had smiled and went about her business. Which included making sure they didn’t do anything reckless.

Riza wandered out of her reverie and realised the cells around her had gone quiet, as if they were waiting for her to answer. She ordered them around the office, always the voice of reason. But as their commanding officer? She couldn’t take his place.

She wasn’t the emotional type and was not sure how to respond. She was happy to listen, to sit back and observe while the antics of the office went on under her scrutinising watch. Even in a battle, she would be placed high above as a sniper, so she could watch over them all and their backs.

She couldn’t let them down. But she couldn’t find the words. She opened her mouth and nothing escaped.

“The Chief has a plan. We’ve gotta trust him!” Havoc winked at Fuery, “no need to have that little worried face! Wish I had Hughes’ camera. That’s worthy of the officer calendar next year.”

“Don’t forget about the one of you smoking through your nose and mouth at the same time,” Breda helpfully supplemented to the reddening Jean Havoc’s face.

Riza heard Falman have a minor heart attack when he heard that.

“And don’t forget the snap Breda got when Hawkeye had her gun at the Colonel for stepping on Hayate’s tail!” Havoc laughed, now not the only target for next year’s calendar.

“He’s a good boy,” Fuery said as though speaking to Hayate.

“He is,” Riza whispered, “and if Hayate tolerates the Colonel, we must continue to do the same.”

“The Colonel hasn’t let us down before,” Fuery said again.

Havoc and Breda looked at Fuery with warm expressions. Riza lowered her head and felt a smile appear on her lips. Nobody would notice. That’s just who she was.

“If he so much as considers giving up, I will shoot him,” Hawkeye said earnestly. And to her surprise, the sound of laughter rose from the four other prison cells, gently reminding her she wasn’t quite so alone.


	10. Tight Leash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first flashback chapter! It follows on from Roy's outing the night before. All POV in this chapter are flashbacks.  
> Mustang and Ed get to begin their bonding XD

Secrets Are Our Lies

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Tight Leash

_~Flashback~_

Edward stared at his soaked boots as he trudged up the steps to East City’s Headquarters. He hated it here. He hated the rain. And he hated these steps. It reminded him of the day when Nina…

He didn’t want to think it.

Mustang had not the only useless one on that rainy day.

Thinking of said Colonel Bastard irked Edward, shifting his mood palette from sombre to pissed off. He had been harassed by the hotel staff at midnight to take the damn call from his superior officer, who had demanded that Ed show up at the office first thing in the morning. And it had been urgent.

Having the bastard telling him off for destroying ‘Amestrian relics’ for the hundredth time did not sound like urgent business to Ed. Amestris was only a few hundred years old. Xing had relics.

At least Al had promised that he’d have cookies when they met up at East City’s library after (somewhat meagre compared to Central). But Mustang had demanded that Ed spend at least a few weeks of the year based in East City. He had been given a few areas of research to conduct. Ed wrote these hastily in ten minutes, bullshitting vague waffle that would be no help to the military whatsoever, and continued to work on research that _mattered._

He only had a couple more days left before he could resume on fieldwork and not have his superior breathing down his neck.

He just wanted this meeting over with.

As he shook off his cloak ceremoniously, he stomped angrily down the numerous corridors, not bothering to register the stares that were being shot at him by uniformed soldiers. None of the military’s sizes would have fit him anyway; they did not fit sizes for children, as many had told him.

And he had given those particular people a piece of his mind (instead of his fists, which he would have preferred). He was not short, dammit!

His feet guided him, muscle memory at this point, until they stopped grudgingly in front of Mustang’s office. He stormed in without bothering to knock.

Hawkeye was the only member at work. Nobody else was dedicated enough to work overtime (which Mustang’s team did enough while their superior officer slacked off). She raised her head and looked surprised to see him.

“Edward, I wasn’t expecting to see you here until Thursday,” the Lieutenant placed her pen on the table beside her mountain of paperwork and picked up her empty mug, “would you like a drink?”

“No thanks,” Ed said glumly. So he had woken up early and trudged to the office for no reason? Had Mustang been winding him up?

He was so going to kill the bastard.

“Where is that lazy Colonel? He told me to get to the office _urgently_ last night. At midnight.” Ed harrumphed and collapsed into one of those sofas he could sink into.

“You see, Edward, the Colonel…” Hawkeye bit her lip. He had never seen her uncertain before. Ed relied on her to say the situation as it was and he respected her for that.

“What has that bastard done?” Ed growled threateningly.

“He had a few too many to drink last night and I assume going into the early hours of this morning too. I had to stop by his place and pick him up this morning,” she said with the tiniest hint of satisfaction.

“I hope you made him suffer.”

“I managed to convince him to get out of bed… but while he was brushing his teeth, he may have accidently stumbled into a running cold shower,” Hawkeye said, “I hope you deem this punishable enough.”

“Damn right! That’s brilliant, Lieutenant,” Ed was definitely in a perkier mood now that he knew the Colonel had been soaked and must be suffering from a terrible hangover now.

“You had better go and find him. There is always method to his inebriated madness,” Hawkeye admitted grudgingly.

“I’m seeing this one day,” Ed chuckled, chucking his damp cloak over the back of the sofa as he stood up.

“In a few more years, I’m sure you will,” Hawkeye smiled. Tormenting the Colonel must have put her in a good mood.

“The sooner I get this offer, the sooner I get my cookies,” Ed muttered to himself as he made his way towards the bastard’s closed office. Again, he didn’t bother to knock; he announced, “make room, old git” and kicked the door open.

Colonel Mustang was at his desk.

But Colonel Mustang was not working.

The man had taken off his military jacket and it was now slumped over his shoulders, a makeshift blanket. His pillow was a mound of paperwork twice the size of Hawkeye’s. He was snoring quietly, oblivious that his hot-headed subordinate had knocked down the door, nearly cleaving it in two. If an assassin had really attempted to end the Colonel’s life, this would have been no fair fight. Hughes had told him that both him and the Colonel were light sleepers, but a battalion could have charged into this office and Ed reckoned the bastard would not even stir.

Now was the time to take a page from the Lieutenant’s book. He tiptoed to the edge of the Colonel’s desk and grabbed the object he required for his mission. Unscrewing the pen cap, Ed took the black marker pen forwards and scribbled a moustache on the man, careful to avoid the Colonel’s drool.

He realised the man had stubble as it was. Usually clean-shaven and pristine, Ed wondered why Mustang had taken himself off from his god pedestal. The man looked like he had not washed in days. He looked so… tired and ordinary. Ed had forgotten that Mustang was human. He always seemed to be working. Lazy, but determined nonetheless.

He looked exhausted sleeping there.

Ed suddenly felt awkward. What was he going to do about the sleeping Colonel? He had drawn the moustache but Ed would not punish the Colonel any further. At least not until he stopped looking like a five-year old and acted his goddamn age.

Damn he really was drooling…

“Er... Lieutenant?” he called out hesitantly.

She appeared silently at his side a few moment later. He watched as she crossed the threshold. Not towards him. But towards his personal coffee machine. There was a whirling as coffee beans were broken to form a powder. To the grounded coffee, Hawkeye added hot water and swirled the contents. No sugar. No milk. A pure caffeine shot.

“He was fed up of the military’s coffee,” she shrugged her shoulders in response to Ed’s glare at the machine (which he had never bothered to notice before) and placed the piping hot mug in front of him.

The result was instantaneous.

The bastard groaned and his back arched like a cat. Without opening his eyes, he reached blindly for the mug, took the coffee to his lips and poured the scalding black liquid down his throat. There was another mug next to the freshly made mug; this one must have contained cold coffee. He swigged that back in one swallow too.

He raised his head, gaze hazy. His eyes appeared hollow, sunken into his skull, like he had desiccated in a desert.

“Ah, Fullmetal, I’m glad you came,” Mustang caught Ed’s gaze and instantly he felt trapped, as if he couldn’t move. He didn’t notice how stupid Mustang looked with that moustache.

“What the hell is this about, you bastard?!” Ed placed his hands on his hips. This was bullshit! The Colonel was speaking to him like a rational person when he had been passed out with a hangover moments before!

“I’ll explain,” Mustang said oddly seriously, gesturing for the seat opposite his desk. Ed hesitantly plonked his ass into the seat while Hawkeye, understanding their need for privacy, went to return to her own stack of paperwork.

“You’d better make this worth my time. You were not the only one who was hauled out of bed at a goddamn evil hour this morning,” Ed shuddered, remembering how Al had had to yank the covers away from him. “Whoever invented mornings deserves a kick in the ass.”

“You’re seeming a little short on sleep, Fullmetal,” the snide bastard could not help but comment. The smug look on his asshole-ish face made Ed even more determined to punch it.

“Who are you calling so minute he could be mistaken for a bed bug instead of an action person!

“The fact that you’re coming out with these retorts means you’ve thought them through, Fullmetal. It is better to admit to the truth of reality someday…” Mustang mused, but Ed could no longer take the insult to heart.

He sniggered. The fucking _moustache._

“What is it, Fullmetal?” Mustang said sharply but then winced in pain, clutching his head in one gloveless palm, rubbing his temples tenderly.

“Nothing,” Ed shrugged off the matter. He had all of eternity to tease the Colonel about that moustache (Havoc had told him in confidence that Mustang had been considering growing the facial hair and Ed was determined to snap the man out of the idea. This seemed like a suitable way of doing that).

“How do I look, Fullmetal? I order you to be honest,” the bastard commanded bluntly.

“You’re looking like shit, _Sir,_ ” Ed had obeyed his command. And addressed his superior officer appropriately.

He should have been promoted for that.

“Thanks, Fullmetal,” the bastard tried to take another swig of his coffee but sighed when he realised there was none left, “let me get to the point. We’re being deployed to Liore on Saturday.”

“What the hell?” Ed said, shock at the forefront of his mind. “Why? Al and I… that phony priest, we-”

“I know, Fullmetal,” an irksome Colonel shoved a hand into his drawer and produced a folder as if by magic, “I had the joy of cleaning up your sixtieth incident with a painstaking 5000-word report.”

“Exactly,” Ed shrugged. The Colonel had cleaned up the ‘mess’ the Fullmetal Alchemist had apparently caused fifty-nine times before. What was the harm in cleaning up one more incident?

“The matter was passed to General Grumman. He deployed East City troops. They stabilised the revolts within a week.”

“So why the hell are we needed there? Does Grumman want us to serve tea?” Ed rolled his eyes blasé. This is what happened every single damn time.

“If the _Fuhrer_ wants us to serve tea, we have to serve tea. We can’t deny a direct order,” Mustang watched Ed’s eyes widen in curiosity.

“But I-!”

“You sold your soul to the military, Fullmetal. The day that you became a Dog, you sold away your freedom. You have had the privilege of being kept on a loose leash, but it has been tightened considerably,” Mustang said, subconsciously pulling his uniform away from his throat, as if he felt an imaginary collar tightening for him too.

“Your fiasco in Liore did not go unnoticed. The Fuhrer deemed it appropriate to deploy Central’s troops a week ago. The results were catastrophic,” the way the Colonel could talk about death and destruction so bluntly made Ed’s blood boil. Ed felt his fists curl into balls and he somehow clenched his teeth together even more.

“But I’ve been tipped that the Fuhrer made the decision with General Hakuro,” Mustang said more to himself.

“Let me guess, you persuaded Hughes to eavesdrop in return for him sharing pictures of Elicia with you,” Ed imagined Hughes blackmailing the bastard with that camera of his.

“Precisely,” Mustang rubbed his temples again.

“Look, are you ok, Colonel?” Ed asked awkwardly, concerned enough for the man to ask.

“Yeah, fine,” Mustang said dismissively, “Fullmetal, prepare yourself. This is not going to be any simple skirmish.”

And then Ed understood.

“I won’t _kill,_ ” Ed growled, eyes molten gold, intense enough to melt anything he looked at.

“You will do as you’re commanded, Fullmetal,” Mustang’s tone was unsympathetic, “you’ve never been treated like a child. I will not start doing so now.”

“You’re such a bastard,” Ed threatened but his tone became less threatening.

“So when do we go?” Ed leaned back into the chair, changing the subject, “I guess I’ll have to tell Al to cancel our train tickets and book some new ones-”

“It is just you and I, brat,” the bastard sighed, as pissed off about the situation as Ed was

“But Al has come with me everywhere. I’m not leaving him behind,” Ed retorted, slamming his automail fist against the desk, “he comes!”

There was a hint of remorse on Mustang’s features, knowing the hidden unspoken truth behind Ed’s words. But orders were orders.

“None of my team are coming. Not even Hawkeye,” Mustang admitted, “the Fuhrer wants his Dogs to be obedient.”

“Al comes,” Ed insisted.

“We’re going to Liore, Fullmetal. But if Al has pressing research he needs to work on in the desert, completely unrelated to your mission,” Mustang more than hinted, “and Havoc has requested holiday leave for the next three weeks.”

“ _Three weeks?!_ ”

“Three weeks,” the bastard confirmed.

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Ed drawled.

* * *

“I hope you are content with matters now, Envy. I grow weary of hearing your squabbling,” a blond-haired man said tiredly from his seat on the throne, looking at some figurines while thoroughly bored.

“Oh yeah, thanks, Father!” Envy paraded around the lair, happily whistling to themselves.

“You are not to kill the potential sacrifice,” Father notified the homunculus.

“I won’t,” Envy whinged, “but I’m gonna have some sweet payback on that Fullmetal brat for ruining all my fun at the Fifth Lab! _And_ for making me work after that Liore disaster.”

But Father was not listening; he had returned to his reverie and did not look like he was willing to leave it anytime soon.


	11. Solidarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hughes has a particularly bad mouth in this... for reasons XD

Secrets Are Our Lies

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Solidarity

He woke up at 4am and groaned. Maes could have been crisply awake at 7am with a decent night’s sleep. But waking up at 4am with three hours of sleep?

Not always the best position to be in.

When he was younger, he could have sustained himself after a late night with Roy drinking and talking about their plans to change Amestris (while hilariously tipsy).

But he was a family man now. And after losing a year’s worth of sleep after Elicia had been born, his body was still catching up.

Well, he would have to find a way to sustain himself.

Hughes shrugged and dragged his feet out of bed, feet shivering and shoved his feet into a pair of slippers. He saw Gracia shuffle in her sleep but she did not wake. Hughes smiled, taking a slow, sleep-hazed moment to watch his sleeping wife’s chest rise and fall under the duvet. He shuffled towards the kitchen to practically infuse himself with caffeine. Before, however, he pattered to Gracia’s side of the bed, placed a silent kiss on her brow, and closed the door softly behind him.

A sluggish half hour passed and as Hughes stepped out the main building of his apartment complex, he saw the Major sitting in the driver’s seat inside a regular car, neither military nor the grand cars the Armstrong’s possessed. Maes blinked gratefully at Armstrong’s discreteness and opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Colonel,” the Major announced, and Maes rubbed his eyes as he saw distinct sparkles around the man. Maes was glad he wasn’t driving.

“Mornin’,” Maes said kindly, “thanks again for the lovely evening. My family and I were spoilt rotten.”

“You are always welcome!” Alex puffed out his chest as he started the ignition. But he paused as the car hummed to life. “And when this is all over, we’ll invite _everyone_ over for a meal. Food is always better eaten with company.”

“Too right,” Maes agreed.

“Are you sure you still want to go… our other location?” Armstrong asked, slight concern in his voice. Of course he would be. What Maes was doing was spontaneous and reckless, when he was supposed to be level-headed and coordinated.

Everyone had to have surprises up their sleeves.

“We’re going,” Maes confirmed, feeling the caffeine finally kicking his senses into high alert. Or was it the adrenaline?

Armstrong pressed his foot gently on the accelerator and they were driving through the streets Central. Streetlamps flickered like will-o-wisps in the darkness. The sky was velvet and still held hostage in the clutches of true night.

Their journal was peaceful and silent. But inside, thoughts were brooding in Maes’ mind. He felt a tug in his gut as they drove past Central State Prison and headed towards Central _City_ Prison, a cunningly thought of name for Central’s more rudimentary prison.

Where the Colonel’s team were being held.

And he could not risk going back to the Fifth Lab just yet. Barry was not trustworthy until he had at least been pacified with the hunting knives. And there was still the opportunity that he had ratted out the Lieutenant Colonel and Major to the lab’s secret staff. Maes would have to wait _just a few more hours._ All of this aimless waiting; Maes’ mind was going stir crazy.

Maes _needed_ to assess the situation, like a flea-riddled dog was driven to scratch. The longer he ignored it, the more intense the sensation became. But also giving into that temptation could make the damage worse.

Hughes had to ensure this went as smoothly as possible. No emotional outbursts, no heroics. He could not afford to make mistakes or lose time.

One mistake- one shot and he’d be-

The car jolted to a halt. Armstrong glanced at Hughes. As his moustache quivered- the tell-tale sign he was going to proclaim something emotional, Hughes stepped out of the vehicle, gesturing for Armstrong to meet him on Oak Street- their rendezvous point. And then they would carry on to the Crow’s Nest, all before dawn hopefully.

Hughes hated not acknowledging the Major’ concern. He valued Armstrong’s help immensely, digging his own grave beside Hughes. But Hughes couldn’t. His nerves of steel were on fire. He couldn’t keep second-guessing himself anymore. Maes had an elaborate imagination for solving his cases, but that could turn against itself.

Time to be reckless by strolling into the front doors of the prison, looking like a disgruntled officer called from his bed to check on an emergency.

It was surprisingly easy to get into the prison by flashing his ID and drawling about investigating some criminal for a case. The tired nightshift staff no longer had a care in the world; they had to make it through the last two hours of their shift before their heads could hit the glorious pillow. Maes would have related. But he had to focus on his breathing as his heart rate was erratic. Was he really doing this?

He just needed to _see._ He needed to make sure Hawkeye, Falman, Breda, Havoc and Fuery were alright. Roy and the Elrics were not his only priorities.

A guard checked his ID as well and admitted him to a corridor of occupied cells. Maes had done his research; he had asked for the records of a recently admitted inmate. And the Colonel’s team were new stock to Central City Prison too.

He had asked for records. But Maes _knew_ the Records Room was beyond the corridor of new inmates. He forced himself to make a steady breath as the last guard allowed him to pass.

The corridor forked to the right but the Records Room was straight ahead. Maes turned around discretely and saw that the guard had started snoozing again, oblivious that Maes was not going where he was meant to. And Maes knew the guards would not check their surveillance footage; this was Central City Prison, a shadow of its counterpart.

Maes walked casually to the path on his right.

This corridor was a dead end. And fewer of these cells were occupied. The first cells on his right and left lacked inmates. More steps forward, more heartbeats, more unoccupied cells. Until he got to the dead-end.

There were five occupied cells, arranged in a U-shape.

Maes, silent as a ghost, felt his heart sag with relief. There were four sleeping forms, lost in the blankets. And he could hear Havoc’s snoring.

But one of Mustang’s team members was awake.

Falman was sitting upright facing Hughes but he remained oblivious to Maes’ presence; he was quietly talking to himself, affirming the libraries of information he had stacked in his mind.

And then he became aware of Maes’ presence and his eyes came into blurry focus.

“Grand?” he whispered, “he’s here… it’s so early. I shouldn’t have been so preoccupied…” he realised he was rambling and exposing himself to the enemy and firmly clamped his mouth shut.

“Relax, Warrant Officer, it’s me,” Hughes hissed, stepping forwards.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hughes?” Falman asked, staring the bedraggled man up and down. Somehow Falman looked more regal in prison attire than Hughes did in his civilian clothing. He understood what nightshifts could do to people.

“The one and only,” Hughes confirmed and for some reason he felt it sensible to show the level-headed soldier his ID. He laughed softly as he tucked it away, as the worry from Falman’s eyes melted away.

“It’s so good to see you,” Falman said enthusiastically. And Maes was surprised by the tone in his voice. That was pleasing to hear. “But what are you doing here?”

“Making sure you’re not getting yourselves into trouble,” Hughes replied honestly. Falman nodded.

“Whatdatime?” a hazy voice asked. Maes noticed the snoring had also stopped. The soldiers were trained to wake up on reflex and of course were light sleepers.

“If that bastard is here already I swear I’ll-”

“At ease, Lieutenant Breda. It’s just Hughes,” a voice laced with ice responded. Hughes looked at the source of the voice in the adjacent cell to Falman’s. Cold amber eyes were watching Hughes warily.

“You need to leave, Sir,” Hawkeye said without any interruption, blunt as a knife.

Hughes suddenly felt very stupid. What the hell was he doing here? He was risking his own neck doing this as well as _Roy and the others._

 _You’re smart and careful enough not to get caught,_ another voice argued in his mind. He _had_ risked his ass to ensure that Roy’s team were safe. And he wasn’t only doing this for his best friend. He had found friends with these people. Heck, they were his family.

“I have another fifteen minutes before Armstrong is expecting me. Is there anything I can do for you? Any messages, any requests? I’m sure I can slip something in for you with your visitors…” Hughes was rambling. The others stared at him, dumbfounded. Hawkeye’s eyes were daggers, narrowed to slits.

“You need to leave, _Sir,_ ” she repeated impassively.

Hughes raised an eyebrow and that other side of him felt pissed off. He had made the effort to come. It must have been the caffeine and adrenaline supplying this energy. Manifesting as restless concern and _anger,_ long suppressed, rising deep from within his belly.

“What did you say about General Grand?” he ignored Hawkeye and turned back to Falman, “what has he been doing? Let me help.”

Falman gave a confused look at Fuery, who blinked uncertainly; Breda sighed and stepped backwards and Havoc gave a thumbs down.

“You have to leave,” Hawkeye repeated again.

 _“Why,_ ” Hughes stated. He glared at each of them in turn. All of them averted his gaze apologetically, except Hawkeye.

“We can’t answer.”

“Why the hell did you _do that_?”

“We can’t answer.”

“Why the fuck is Roy blanking me?”

“I can’t-”

“I _fucking know_ you can’t answer, Lieutenant!” Maes hissed, wrath churning through his stomach uncomfortably. His morning porridge felt lodged in his oesophagus.

“I get a fucking phone call and do you know what the last thing I expected to hear was? Huh? That Colonel Roy Mustang and his team and the Elric brothers had attempted to assassinate the Fuhrer? On a whim? For no reason except to… I don’t even know! And if you were being blackmailed, you could have at least _asked me_ for help, unless-“

“Oh.”

“You need to leave, Lieutenant Colonel,” Riza said faintly, her eyes looking less like an officer and more like a human being. Sympathetic with his cause. But unable to do anything else.

“Ok…” Hughes stumbled, brain cells clicking into place. Without being given an answer directly, he had been gifted avenues of possibility. “I’m sorry.”

He was tired and hurt and _lonely._ His anger had subsided to a dull ache, beating alongside his heart.

“This is how it has to be. Apologies on _all_ of our behalves,” and she saluted him as Hughes made his exit. Each of Mustang’s family saluted him as he passed, alert and solemn. They were stronger than he gave them credit for It wasn’t until he stepped out into the milky pre-dawn sky that he realised his face was damp.

And he was sure Elicia had not sprayed him with water with a water gun.

* * *

His muscles quivered in anticipation as he waited in the vehicle in the designated spot the Lieutenant Colonel had pointed out to him. Hughes was due to be back in five minutes, at their latest arranged time, or they risked missing Barry the Chopper and the vital information he could pass onto the two military officers. More importantly, he was concerned that Hughes had been _caught._

The Lieutenant Colonel was not completely reckless per se, but he had been consumed by a ravenous _hunger_ to find retribution, to find answers that he was not getting. And for a stubborn and straight-forward individual like Hughes, the prospect of hard work not yielding results was frustrating as it was defeating. Hughes had learnt patience in practice for cases and even then that involved him working throughout the nocturnal hours to catch a criminal, put a name to a face and prevent more people from being hurt.

Especially those closest to him.

Armstrong was apprehensive. He did not know what Colonel Mustang had imagined. But with the imminent trial and thus potential conviction, the need for answers could be suffocating.

Hughes was convinced the Colonel was innocent and Armstrong was certain on that possibility too. Although… his mind had a background voice, a whispering, a niggling, logically pointing out that Mustang might not have been all he had said he was. What if Mustang had had a moment of desiring absolute power? What if he had used his well-known manipulation to sway his team to committing the deed? Of attempting to kill an equally condemnable man-

_Stop it, Alex._

He rubbed his tired eyes wearily. It was the exhaustion speaking. He did not believe that. And he would not allow another ounce of energy to be channelled into that way of thinking. Alex was ashamed he had doubted. But those moments came.

What made him wonder however, that if he had those thoughts, then what about the nation? What about the friends and family the Colonel and the team had? If the seeds of doubt had been planted, who knew what chaos they could reap.

They needed answers.

Alex sighed heavily and clicked open the driver’s seat. He raised in eyebrows in alarm when he looked through the wing mirror. He saw a figure running up the pavement, frantically waving his head from side to side, jogging lightly down the sleeping street. His hands held two steaming cups of what was obviously coffee in takeaway mugs.

Hughes was fifty feet… twenty feet… five feet… Alex opened the window and took the cups from the man, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

“So…unfit… blame office work…” Hughes was panting. But even though he looked out of breath and physically exhausted, there was a looseness to his physique, which had been tense when Alex had picked Hughes up this morning. That decided it. Hughes was satisfied with how the Colonel’s team were, so Armstrong could rest assured their mission was a success and not in vain. When he had recovered, Hughes looked up at Armstrong and gestured with a hand for the Major to get out, opening the driver’s door, “I’ll drive!”

The Major would never cease to be bemused by the outgoing and positive Lieutenant Colonel.

“It’ll be nice to get behind the wheel, if only for a little while,” Hughes had started chatting as Alex stepped gracefully out of the vehicle (agility and flexibility were traits passed down the Armstrong lineage for generations) and passed the half-finished coffee back to Hughes.

“Cappuccino, lots of milk, no sugars,” Hughes said looking at his coffee tenderly, and glanced at Alex taking the lid of his off, “latte, one sugar and cream for you.”

“You remembered?” Alex was overcome with sudden emotion, “dear Lieutenant Colonel!”

The Major was embracing the man wearing glasses tightly.

“Are you quite alright, Hughes?” Armstrong said to confirm his thoughts.

“Yeah,” Hughes rubbed the back of his head with a hand, “the Lieutenant had to knock some sense into me, like usual. I’m becoming more like Roy every day. His bad habits are finally getting to me.”

 _Or perhaps you’ve always been like each other. Different… but similar…_ Alex thought amusedly.

“But this thing goes deep,” Hughes said briefly, not elaborating, “Roy’s team are also sworn to silence. The Elrics too.”

“What are your thoughts?”

“This goes deeper than the military. Someone with a grudge against Roy. Someone who knows how to make him hurt,” Hughes’ eyes darkened temporarily, “but the way the case has been handled… Elric brothers separated… the Fifth Lab being operational. The military _are_ involved in this. Someone else trying to overthrow the Fuhrer? Making Roy do their dirty work for them? There are too many possibilities at the moment.”

“Being in Investigations is about narrowing the pool from a million options to one,” Armstrong confirmed.

“But we’re getting closer. And we’ll get there.”

Armstrong then visibly relaxed himself. Hughes had his fire back.

“Are you ready to depart?” Armstrong asked.

“Almost…” Hughes sat back and closed his eyes, “do you know what, Major, I don’t remember the last time I relaxed and enjoyed food or drink. Just for now, let’s make this moment count.”

“Yes, Sir,” the Major felt it proper to salute.

And both men sat in the car drinking their coffees in amiable silence before Hughes started the engine and the car rolled towards the Crow’s Nest.

* * *

Dawn.

And as usual, there were still stragglers stooped over their drinks at this eternally open establishment. The bartender had been cleaning the same glass for ten minutes straight, with a stained cloth. Shady people came to the Crow’s Nest, or normal denizens by mistake, usually spending the evening in the bar, stiff and upright, finishing their drinks swiftly before departing.

Barry knew well, for a couple of those denizens had become his prey.

Serial killers and prostitutes and drug dealers were regular customers.

Barry tipped some more of his drink into the filthy vase with a fake flower in it and tapped his gloves impatiently on his unoccupied table.

Damn he had gotten excited. He had arrived here half an hour ago. Time slipped by when you did not spend eight hours a night sleeping. But he was surprised the military men were a no show. And how he had so loved to get his metaphorical hands on those relic hunting daggers!

Not that he would tell that Howles guy, but he had been excited to spill the beans on Lusty and her crew.

But as he sighed, sound reverberating throughout his armoured shell, he saw the tall blond chap and the shorter man with dark hair and glasses step through the main door. They were dressed in civilian clothing and actually blended in quite well, Barry had to give credit for that.

The shorter one was glancing around the establishment when he spotted Barry with a nod. The blond one headed over to the bar to order something (Barry wouldn’t have advised that but heh, it would be amusing to watch).

“You’re late,” Barry tapped his metal wrist importantly as the chap with glasses slid into a seat across from Barry.

“These were heavy,” Howles- or was it Hughes- smirked and drew an item onto the table, swathed in cloth. Barry’s new babies. He could feel his soul shiver with excitement.

Barry lifted a hand tentatively and revealed the contents of the package. Two ornate daggers, attached together by their hilts, lay on the dingy table. Barry’s first instinct was to swaddle them up and hurry with them somewhere safe. But he repressed the instinct. What could he say?

He loved to cut up some meat.

“You’re just lucky that this crook is forgiving, pal,” Barry warned Hughes.

“Cheers,” Hughes said cheerfully, smiling, “I am a family man and I have to keep my promises.”

“Telling a serial killer you’ve got kids ain’t a smart move, don’t ya think?” Barry said curiously. How did this man have such a high military rank? He looked like a keen football dad.

“But my family do not meet your criteria, Barry. My wife and daughter have dirty blonde hair. Your victims have either pure blonde or black hair. You are specific about your taste. And since you were condemned and placed in that suit of armour, you have not killed anyone of your own conviction. You may have been ordered to, but you have not taken a life since being freed.”

“And what makes you say I haven’t killed anyone? Nobody may have been cut up, but how do you know I haven’t started killin’ another way?”

“You’re too in love with your work to change how you kill. It would be a violation to you,” Hughes summarised succinctly. _Damn the guy is good._

Barry shrugged, glancing at the silver treasure bestowed before him and protectively wrapped the cloth over the top, in case any crook had an eye on his babies. The beefy one had returned from the bar with two lime cordials and sat next to Hughes. Barry would remember that name for a long time.

“So how can I help ya?” Barry clasped his gauntlets together and rested his elbows on the table.

“What do you know about Colonel Roy Mustang’s assassination attempt on the Fuhrer a week ago?” Hughes asked sharply. Straight to the point.

“It’s been all over the news. You could say the _hottest_ topic in Central,” Barry chuckled at his own pun, “but I think everyone in Amestris knows what happened.

“There’s even chatter underground.”

“Oh, has there?” Hughes asked casually.

“Yeah, especially those with connections in the military,” he sighed, “there’s a guy who looks like me who was involved in Mustang’s little fiasco. His brother’s a pipsqueak. These gossips were asking him questions. Turns out he had no idea what was going on either!”

“Who knows what’s going on?”

“Now that’s a good question. My guess would be the… Homunculi.”

And the word affected the tall officer, who visibly twitched in his seat.

“Alchemy, Major Armstrong?”

“Yes…” Armstrong said blandly, looking deep in thought. Hughes glanced at him curiously but did not inquire his colleague further.

“Are they an organisation?”

“Yeah you could say that. I’ve met three of ‘em. Go by Gluttony, Envy and my favourite lass, Lusty,” Barry _loved_ selling them out like this. They had left him for dead; so he didn’t give a rat’s ass about them. “They all have a tattoo of a dragon-serpent thing. That’s their mark.”

“They ran the Fifth Lab. They made Philosopher’s Stones. They destroyed and _rebuilt the building,”_ Hughes summarised, “they must be making something. Not Stones. Something else. And this is _connected_ to Roy.”

“Maybe,” Barry shrugged his shoulders, “they never trusted me enough with their secrets. _But there are people that they did._

“Now I’ve told ya enough. That’s Equivalent Exchange. And you two look like you’re about to drop asleep. Wouldn’t advise that here.”

“Thanks for your help, Barry. And apologies, but we’ve got miles to go yet,” Hughes nodded and reached out to shake Barry’s hand. The Chopper accepted.

Hughes and Armstrong shuffled out of their seats and left the premises first. A few minutes later Barry stepped out through a side exit.

Barry waited silently in an alleyway, chuckling when he heard the two officers speak.

“How much insight do you think we’ve gained, Lieutenant Colonel?” Armstrong still looked slightly gutted to have lost his family treasures. Too late, no refunds, no siree!

“Oh we’ve found out plenty,” Hughes said with a grin.

“Let’s get in the car… I’ve got some alchemic information to share with you,” Armstrong said.

“There’s something else…” Hughes muttered.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah… something our _friend_ said… Connections… connections… join the dots, towns are dots on the map, and join them together…” Hughes’ mouth opened, neurons firing as his brain rushed to catch up, “ _shit”._


End file.
